The Choice
by Maud Walter
Summary: Seth and Ryan get in trouble, and the Cohens-plus-1 are forced to examine and redefine their relationships.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We own nothing.

Summary: Seth and Ryan get in trouble, and the Cohens + 1 are forced to examine and redefine their relationships. Takes place after The Countdown.

Authors' note: This story was co-authored by Maud and Walter. Many thanks to AKA for the thoughtful beta-work, and to NorthernStella and ctoan for the helpful advice.

****

Chapter 1

If Seth sighed one more time, Ryan was going to call the water polo team himself and invite them to the pool house for a wrestling match. Seth being mauled by a bunch of brainless jocks certainly couldn't be any harder to ignore than the dramatic whimpers coming from the other side of the room.

Seth sighed. Ryan snapped his book shut.

"Seth." Ryan glared pointedly at him. But Seth, Ryan sometimes forgot, was by now pretty much immune to his glares. He took Ryan's break in silence as an invitation.

"I am so bored," Seth said, dragging out the words into a whine.

"So do something," Ryan said. He opened his book and tried to find the page he'd been reading. Or trying to read.

"All right, what do you want to do?" Seth hopped up from his chair near the door and bounced on Ryan's bed. Ryan's pen and highlighter rolled off the bed and under a table. He scowled at Seth.

"Study."

"Dude, it's Friday night."

"Yeah. So?"

"So, let's do something."

It was Ryan's turn to sigh.

"C'mon, I know you're pissed about Marissa-"

"I'm not pissed about Marissa," Ryan insisted.

"Whatever, man. She totally ditched you tonight and you're sulking and now I'm the one paying for it."

"I'm not-"

"Yeah you are," Seth said. "So let's do something."

"You're not gonna talk me into that shark movie, Seth," Ryan said. He leaned over the side of the bed to find his pens.

"All right, so you're scared of sharks." Ryan lifted his head high enough to glare at Seth. Seth ignored him. "I don't want to see a movie anyway. Let's do something fun for once. We never have any fun, you know that?"

Ryan grabbed his pens and sat back down on the bed. Seth was still bouncing, but not quite as energetically as before. Ryan set the pens on his bedside table and closed his book again.

"Fine. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

Ryan glared.

"Got it. I'm in charge of entertainment tonight." Seth frowned thoughtfully at the bedspread. Ryan reclined back and crossed his arms over his chest. With any luck Seth would come up empty and he could go back to forgetting about Marissa and the party that he didn't want to go to anyway. "Yeah, I've got nothing."

Ryan raised his eyebrows and reached for his book again.

"Okay, looks like we're studying."

"No, c'mon, man, it's Friday night. Don't give up on Friday night. Let's-let's-I don't know, what'd you do in Chino on Friday nights?"

"We're not going to Chino."

"I know," Seth said quickly and then paused. "Except, well, maybe we could go to Chino-"

"We're not going to Chino, Seth."

"Fine, fine," Seth said, pouting. "You know, Marissa got to go to Chino. How come you never take me to Chino?"

Ryan almost had to laugh. Only Seth could somehow make Chino sound like a trip to Disneyland.

"Look, I'm not saying we should go to Chino," Seth said. "But you know, maybe you could give me the Chino experience. You can't take me to the 'hood, but you can bring the 'hood to me."

Ryan stared and Seth seemed to understand that he wasn't making any sense.

"Friday nights couldn't have been as boring in Chino as they are in Newport. So what'd you do? Raping? Pillaging? I know it wasn't all stealing cars and crashing them."

Ryan shrugged and considered the question. "I don't know. Mostly we just hung out."

"Hung out in pool houses while reading The Great Gatsby for a book report that's not due for two weeks?"

"All right," Ryan said, leaning forward, "usually we'd just get some beer and go somewhere and drink until the cops found us and chased us away."

"And have lots of sex, right?"

"We're not having sex, Seth."

"Okay, no sex, but the rest sounds good. Let's do it."

"No." Ryan opened his book.

"No? Why not? It's the perfect plan."

"Because it's a bad idea."

"It's a great idea," Seth said. Ryan sighed and closed his eyes.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he asked, eyes still closed.

"Nope," Seth said. "Come on, you owe me."

Ryan's eyes popped open. "I owe you?"

"You took Marissa to Chino. You owe me a Chino experience."

"Seth-"

"You're gonna punch me if I keep bugging you, aren't you?"

Ryan stared openly at Seth.

"Yeah, your jaw gets all tight when you're ready to hit someone," Seth said. "You don't really want to punch me, do you? So let's do this. Let's just hang out and get drunk like a couple of guys from Chino. You can study tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night's Saturday."

"Yes, I am aware of the days of the week," Seth said.

"If we go out tonight, you'll let me study tomorrow night," Ryan said uncertainly.

"That's the deal."

"Fine," Ryan said, tossing his book aside. "Let's get out of here."

Ryan grabbed a jacket on the way out and was headed toward the back door of the main house when Seth let loose what sounded like a squeak from behind him. Ryan turned to find Seth standing near the pool, waving his hands furiously over his head and looking vaguely like someone trying to land an airplane. He also seemed to be whistling, or trying to. Ryan squinted at him in the dark.

"Dude, where are you going?" Seth whispered across the patio.

"In the house," Ryan said, refusing to lower his voice.

"Why?" Seth hissed.

"Why not?"

"Because we're sneaking out," Seth said, as though pointing out the obvious. He kept shooting panicked looks over Ryan's shoulder, toward the house.

"Why are we sneaking out?"

"Didn't you sneak out in Chino?"

"No."

"Oh." Seth lowered his arms and slowly crossed the patio. "You didn't?"

"Why would I?"

"Well, what if my mom catches us?"

"Catches us doing what, Seth?"

"You know…" Seth stalled. "Oh."

"Right." Ryan turned back to the house. He stopped when Seth grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.

"Wait." Ryan rolled his eyes toward the sky. "What if she asks what we're doing?"

"Tell her we're going out."

"That'll work?"

Ryan crossed his arms and puffed out his cheeks in frustration.

"Look, we have to tell your mom we're leaving. Otherwise she'll worry." He paused and thought about it. This parenting thing was still new territory for him. "Won't she?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"So come on," Ryan said, and he pulled the back door open. Seth hesitated before following.

Kirsten was in the main dining room, papers spread liberally around the table. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she was chewing on a pen. She looked up when Seth and Ryan walked in.

"Hi, boys."

"Hey, Mom." Seth sounded shaky. Ryan wanted to groan.

"What are you guys up to tonight?"

"Uh-" Seth started.

"We're going out," Ryan said.

"All right. Don't be late." Kirsten turned back to her papers and Ryan heard Seth sigh audibly behind him. They were backing out of the room when Kirsten looked up again. "Oh, Seth. Don't forget a jacket."

Ryan looked over his shoulder to see Seth, his eyes wide, and nudged him back with an elbow.

"Yeah, okay. I'll be right back." Seth grinned at Ryan and clapped him on both shoulders, then turned and ran toward the stairs. Ryan shook his head and smiled. When he looked back at Kirsten, the pen was in her mouth again.

"So, what are these? Floor plans?" he asked, leaning his palms on the table and turning his head to read the blueprints upside down.

Kirsten glanced up and smiled at him. "Yeah. These are the plans for a new development in Laguna. Most of the city's already built out, so the building codes are pretty restrictive. These plans need to be in by Monday morning and I've got to check every one of them."

"You don't have people to do that for you?" Ryan asked.

"Well, yes, of course we do. I just like to be thorough."

Ryan paused and studied her for a moment.

"You like this. Going over the plans, I mean. That's why you do it, right?"

He thought he saw Kristen blush.

"Yeah, that too," she admitted. She met his eyes and grinned. "Want me to explain it to you? Show you what you're looking at?"

Ryan nodded automatically, then thought better of it.

"No. I mean, you're busy, and you've got to get this done by Monday…"

"I could use the break. Come over here." She waved him to join her on the other side of the table. "These lines, here, with the hash marks? That's for-"

"Okay, buddy, let's go." Seth was in the doorway, zipping up the front of a sweater. Ryan frowned and glanced at Kirsten. She smiled.

"We can do this later," she said. "We've got all weekend."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she said. "You guys have fun."

Ryan lingered over the blueprints a moment longer, then stood up and joined Seth.

"Thanks," he called from the doorway.

"You're welcome," she said. "Be careful, guys."

+++++

Seth bounced on his feet, rolling from toe to heel and back again, and tried to resist the urge to glance back inside the liquor store. Tried and failed. Ryan was still at the back of the store picking out the beer. He hadn't even bothered to ask Seth his preferred brand, because who were they kidding, Seth couldn't tell one beer from another and all things considered he'd probably prefer wine coolers. Not that he was about to admit that to Ryan.

He looked back inside again. Still at the refrigerators. Seth turned back around just as a middle-aged man in a suit stepped up to the curb. Seth nodded a hello and tried to look as casual as possible, which seemed more difficult than it should have been. It wasn't as though he looked overly suspicious. Nothing wrong with a 16-year-old kid with a skateboard hanging out in front of a liquor store on a Friday night.

Seth glanced back in the store. Ryan was at the counter. Finally. He resisted the urge to watch Ryan trying to buy the beer, and this time he won. Seth whistled and bounced on his feet some more, nerves making his stomach crawl. All of the pressure was on Ryan, but Seth figured he was an accomplice to the crime at this point—he wasn't technically purchasing the alcohol, but wasn't watching Ryan's bike aiding and abetting, or something like that? Seth watched a tall woman wearing far too few clothes for the time of year climb out of a Suburban. He'd never understand why Newport women insisted on driving such ridiculously oversized cars, but it didn't matter much when they had such ridiculously oversized breasts to match. Seth watched her walk into the store and almost didn't notice when Ryan appeared at his side. Empty-handed.

"Dude," Seth started.

"He said I look 25 but he needs ID anyway."

Ryan didn't look particularly disappointed, which meant he either really wasn't disappointed, or he had another plan.

"Want me to try?"

Ryan didn't even bother to answer that question with a look.

"He'll help," Ryan said, nodding toward a man in a UCLA sweatshirt walking toward the store. Without waiting for a response from Seth, Ryan crossed over to the man. Seth couldn't hear the conversation, but it didn't seem like more than five words had been exchanged before the man accepted cash from Ryan with a nod and disappeared into the store.

"That was easy," Seth said, and Ryan shrugged. He hopped on his bike to wait. A few minutes later the man stopped outside and handed Ryan a paper bag, then walked away without saying a word.

"Where's our change?" Seth asked.

"He was doing us a favor."

"Right."

Ryan passed the paper bag to Seth, who took it without thinking then stared at it and tried to push it back at Ryan.

"You want me to carry it? We're underage. What if I get caught?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow at Seth.

"You've got free hands," he said

"But I need unrestricted movement for balance," Seth said, flapping one arm around to demonstrate. When Ryan just stared at him in disbelief, Seth sighed and gave in. If he even so much as smelled a cop—and Seth wasn't entirely certain he'd be able to smell a cop, but the cliché sounded about right—he had every intention of dumping the bag and skating away as fast as his board would carry him.

"So where exactly are we going?" Ryan asked. He pushed off on his bike and drifted down the sidewalk, away from the liquor store. Seth gripped the paper bag in one hand and shoved off on his skateboard behind him.

"I don't know. Where'd you hang out in Chino?"

"Parks, usually," Ryan said. "Sometimes schools, or construction sites."

Seth perked up and opened his mouth to endorse option C.

"No," Ryan said before Seth could speak.

"C'mon, man, I know just the place."

"No construction sites."

"One bad experience in a model home and you're going to avoid construction sites for the rest of your life? And you want to be an architect?"

"There must be a park or something nearby," Ryan said.

"You're afraid, man. Face your fear. Fight it. Show Fear who's boss."

"I'm not afraid," Ryan said.

Seth pierced him with what he hoped was a skeptical glare, but was most likely neither skeptical nor glaring. Or piercing.

"Then follow me," Seth said, opting for his favorite method of convincing people, and especially Ryan, to follow his lead: not giving them a choice. Seth pushed off on his skateboard, hopped the curb and sailed down a very dark street toward the ocean. When he glanced back Ryan was right behind him, and Seth was glad there weren't many streetlights on this road because he really didn't want to see the look on Ryan's face right now.

They rode for about a mile before Seth turned into a quiet neighborhood, stopping at the far end of a cul de sac. He hopped off his board and kicked it up into his hands, and heard Ryan's bike screech to a stop behind him. Seth cringed at the squeak of brakes and looked quickly at the houses around them before reminding himself that really they weren't exactly doing anything wrong. Just yet. Ahead of Seth was a dirt road, and about 100 yards up the road was a chain link fence. Seth turned back to Ryan and nodded his head toward the road. Ryan frowned, clearly not happy with where the road would be taking them, and Seth pretended not to notice.

"I don't think this is such a great idea," Ryan said quietly when they'd walked to the base of the fence.

"Face the fear, man, face the fear," Seth whispered.

"I'm not afraid. I just have…bad luck, around construction sites."

"Once. You had bad luck once. Are you really gonna let one little house fire ruin construction sites forever?"

"Yeah, I think I am," Ryan said, and started to turn around. Seth grabbed him by the jacket sleeve, second-guessed that abrupt gesture when Ryan stared hard at his hand, then forced himself to keep it there. It wasn't like Ryan was going to hit him. Except at that thought Seth changed his mind and let go after all.

"We're already here. Let's just check it out. If you're still freaked out-"

"I'm not freaked out."

"Whatever. We can leave if you want. Okay?"

Ryan gazed wearily through the chain link fence, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"All right."

"Great," Seth said. "You go first."

Ryan scowled at him but didn't argue, and unlike Seth, who would have asked for a boost to get started climbing, Ryan simply jumped up and in maybe two seconds had scaled the fence and landed on the other side. Seth stared at him in amazement.

"You've done this before," he said, nodding his head in appreciation.

"That surprises you?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah, I guess not."

Seth wasn't nearly as graceful, and he was fairly certain Ryan's palms hadn't been sweating so badly that he feared for his life at multiple points while climbing, but he managed to make it to Ryan's side without breaking his neck or even ripping a hole in his T-shirt. All in all, he was impressed with his own breaking and entering abilities. Until he realized he'd left the beer on the other side. Ryan apparently had been aware of Seth's mistake the entire time.

"Forget something?" he asked with that smirk that didn't show up very often but always made Seth want to smack him, if smacking wouldn't be guaranteed to earn him a much more painful smack in return.

"Damn it," Seth said, and reached out to climb back over the fence.

"I got it," Ryan said before Seth could get a foot off the ground. Ryan hopped to the other side and tossed the bag over the fence to Seth without a warning. Seth just managed to catch it before it the beer could nail him in the face.

"Thanks, man," he said.

"No problem," Ryan said, either ignoring or not getting Seth's sarcasm.

They hiked a little further up the dirt road and stopped in front of the first half-built home they came to.

"See, it isn't even a model home," Seth said.

"How can you tell?" Ryan asked.

"Let's go inside," Seth said, not giving Ryan a chance to argue the point any further, because honestly, who could tell which homes were models and which were just run-of-the-mill mansions.

This particular home was much less far along in the construction process than the home Ryan had stayed in, and burned down, several months before. The walls were open planks of crisscrossed wood. The floors creaked, the wood bending slightly beneath their feet. Seth headed straight for the stairs.

"This is awesome," Seth said quietly when he'd reached the second floor, where a giant balcony looked down over the entryway directly below them. There were no railings on the balcony yet, so Seth sat down and dangled his feet over the edge.

"Oh God, please don't do that," Ryan said, sounding sick. Seth turned around and glanced at him. Ryan was pressed back against the wall on the other side of the balcony, as far away from the edge as he could get.

"Come on, sit down, let's drink," Seth said, waving Ryan over. He set down the paper bag and pulled out a bottle of beer. Corona. Seth had no idea if it was any good or not, but all that mattered now was that he didn't have a bottle opener and he suddenly felt like a little bit of an idiot. "Hey, you got-"

"Seriously, Seth, don't even talk to me when you're sitting like that, on the edge, like 50 feet up."

"Dude, that is so not 50 feet."

"Seth."

"All right, all right, coming, Dad," Seth said, and climbed to his feet. Just for fun he tottered on the edge of the balcony for a moment, pretending to lose his balance, but Ryan wasn't biting and anyway he looked pretty pale in the very dim light.

+++++

"Damn it, Seth, will you put that flashlight away?" Ryan said. "You keep shining it in my eyes."

Seth waved the light in his direction, but Ryan noticed he was careful to aim below chest level.

"You haven't seen my giraffe yet," Seth said. "Trust me, Ryan, the giraffe is my masterpiece. I could retire on this giraffe."

"Uh huh," Ryan said, and took another swig of his Corona.

"Watch," Seth said. "Watch and learn."

He propped the flashlight on a cinderblock and positioned his hands in front of it. Ryan had to admit, Seth's shadow puppets were pretty good, probably because he had such freakishly large hands. But the more he drank, the worse they got, and his so-called giraffe resembled nothing so much as a lopsided saguaro cactus.

"You suck," Ryan said, throwing a bottle cap at Seth, who caught it gracefully in one hand and then promptly dropped it.

"I am _awesome_," Seth said, with great dignity. "But I suppose when you spend your formative years perfecting your right hook, you don't have much time to develop an aesthetic eye."

"Oh, you say another word," Ryan said, "and I'll be perfecting my right hook on your aesthetic eye."

Seth was just opening his mouth to answer when Ryan heard gravel popping on the drive outside. He set his beer bottle carefully on the floor, as far away as he could reach without actually moving. Seth clutched his bottle with both hands, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth again, but Ryan hissed, "Seth," and Seth nodded and swallowed, hard. Then they both noticed the blue lights flashing outside.

Ryan whispered, "Cops."

"My mom's going to kill me if we get in trouble," Seth whispered back. "And oh God, Ryan, your probation."

Ryan closed his eyes.

"There's a back door," Seth whispered. Ryan nodded. They both stood up, very slowly. When they heard the footsteps echoing on the floorboards below, Seth made a dash for the adjoining room and Ryan followed.


	2. Chapter 2

****

Chapter 2

In the next room, Seth pressed his body against a wall and stared at Ryan, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

"Newport Police," a voice boomed from the bottom floor. "Come on out, and keep your hands where we can see them."

Ryan and Seth stood, frozen, listening to the boots thumping on the stairs. A beam of light flashed across the open doorway. Seth made a series of nonsensical gestures with his hands and finally pointed over his shoulder to another door that apparently was their escape. Ryan nodded and they both moved slowly toward it. Seth sucked in his breath when a board squeaked beneath his feet. The footsteps from the next room stopped and a moment later the light swung back into the room.

"Come on," Seth hissed, sprinting toward the door. Ryan hesitated before racing after him.

"Police! Stop, right now."

Seth froze in the doorway and then turned around so quickly that Ryan nearly ran into him. Seth's face was momentarily illuminated in the bright beam from a flashlight, and Ryan looked over his shoulder, back at the cops. He raised a hand to shield his eyes so he could see the shadowy figure of two cops who stood several feet behind him. One held the flashlight, and, though it was hard to make out in the dark, Ryan thought he saw the second cop's hand hovering over the butt of his holstered gun.

"Take it easy, kid. Don't move."

Ryan assumed the cop with the flashlight was talking to him and he dropped his arms to his sides, keeping his hands open and away from his body. But when he turned his head and faced forward, away from the cops, he saw that the light was focused again on Seth, whose hands were raised and fluttering around his chest. Seth shuffled on his feet and seemed to be inching away from the door. He was panicking.

The cop with the flashlight reached out toward Seth, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him hard against the wall. Seth's forehead hit the doorjamb with a loud crack, and he let out a startled yelp. 

"Hey!" Ryan shouted, and jumped forward. He pushed between Seth and the cop, knocking the cop backward with his shoulder. The cop stumbled, then found his balance. In one quick motion he dropped the flashlight and pulled his gun from its holster.

"Back off," the cop said, his voice low and angry. He was breathing hard. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan saw that the other cop had moved forward and drawn his weapon, too. Both were trained on Ryan.

Ryan stared at the guns, listening to Seth's sharp intake of breath behind him. He could feel his heart beating in every inch of his body.

"Raise your hands above your head and back up," the cop said. "Away from your friend. Slowly."

Lifting his hands, palms out, Ryan shuffled backward, scared that he'd trip and the sudden movement would make the cop shoot him. He knew he'd made a mistake. A big one. 

"Place both hands behind your head and lace your fingers together."

Ryan obeyed, feeling very exposed. 

"All right, get down," the cop said. "On your knees."

Ryan sank to the ground, keeping his eyes on the gun the whole time. He immediately felt safer, kneeling. He was less likely to be shot on the ground, he thought. 

"Good," the cop said. "Now don't move."

While the other cop moved closer, covering both Seth and Ryan with his gun, the cop Ryan had shoved circled around behind him. Ryan heard the faint clink of metal just behind his head, and swallowed hard as the officer grabbed first his left wrist, then his right, and snapped the handcuffs on.

"You're under arrest for criminal trespass and assault on an officer," the cop said. He began reading Ryan his rights, but Ryan couldn't listen. Instead he watched, his panic mounting, as Seth put his hands behind his back and the second cop handcuffed him, too. It was all wrong. Seth hadn't attacked anyone, and he didn't have a record, and this wasn't the kind of thing that got you handcuffed, not when you were just a kid fooling around. At least, it wasn't in Chino.

The officer behind him gripped the chain between the handcuffs with one hand and with his free hand began searching Ryan, starting at the top of his head and moving downward.

"Any sharp objects or weapons?" he asked.

"No," Ryan whispered. He held his breath as the cop patted him down. No matter how often it happened, he couldn't get used to being touched by strangers. Maybe it should have been easier for Seth, who, for all his coltish awkwardness was graced with an enviable ease when it came to most physical encounters. No matter how many times he was attacked by the water polo team, Seth could still relax into a hug or accept a friendly punch in the arm without flinching. No matter how many times Sandy clapped Ryan on the back or put an arm around his shoulders, Ryan's hands still sometimes closed into fists when the contact was unexpected. 

But now Ryan watched out of the corner of his eye as the cop moved to search Seth. Seth jumped a little each time the cop's hands came down on a new part of his body, and by the time the cop finished at his ankles, Seth was shivering like a puppy left out in the rain. 

The cops took their wallets, and Seth's keychain with the Swiss Army knife on it. He moved to the other side of the room, and the radio crackled and sputtered as he called in their information. Ryan's knees were getting tired and his arms were stiff from being twisted behind him, but he was too afraid to even shift his weight. 

It didn't take the cop long to return, and he came to stand in front of Ryan.

"You're on probation," he said. "Auto theft?"

Ryan sighed. "Yes, sir."

"And you're both underage," he said. "You're aware of the consequences here?"

"Yes, sir," Ryan said again. He had to force the words out.

"All right," the cop said. "We're going down to the station."

Ryan looked up. "Even Seth? Because he doesn't – "

"Hey," the cop said. "You really don't want to piss me off any more than you have already, kid." He hauled Ryan up by the cuffs, and pushed him forward. The second cop led Seth, but more gently. Ryan looked at Seth, who still looked pretty shaky.

"Ryan," Seth said, his voice small. 

Ryan knew it was an apology, the only one Seth could manage right now. He nodded accepting it because Seth needed him to, but he knew he was the one who should have been apologizing. He was the one who'd gotten them arrested. The cop jerked on his arms to lead him down the stairs, which Ryan took as slowly as possible, irrationally afraid that he would pitch forward and break his neck. The cops led them to the police cruiser and put them in the backseat. 

Seth turned to look at Ryan. His eyes were huge and nearly luminous in the dim light. His chin trembled and he looked as though he wanted to speak, but he said nothing. There was a first time for everything, Ryan thought. 

"Seth," he said. "It's okay. Nothing's going to happen to you."

He leaned over and bumped his shoulder against Seth's. Seth just shook his head.

+++++

They'd been sitting in the patrol car for less than a minute when Seth realized he couldn't breathe. There was the grille in front of him and the doors with no inside handles and the fact that he couldn't move his hands, and all of this was making it hard to fill his lungs. He shifted and pushed his shoulders back and tried to take a deep breath, but it was impossible. 

"What are you doing?" Ryan said, and God, Ryan was so much calmer than Seth ever would have expected. He looked very tired, but he was composed. 

"Claustrophobic," Seth whispered. "My throat's closing."

"No, it isn't," Ryan said. He sneaked a glance at the two officers, who were sliding into the front seat. "Seriously, Seth, chill. This'll all be over in a few hours. You'll be home."

"What about you?" Seth said.

Ryan sighed and ducked his head, then took a deep breath.

"It'll be fine," he said. But he wouldn't look at Seth. 

"No talking back there," said the officer who wasn't driving, the one Ryan had pushed. 

"Hey," Ryan said, his voice entirely too harsh. "He can't breathe."

"Asthma?"

"No, he's scared." Ryan said. Seth shot him the best glare he could muster, but apparently his Glare of Doom lacked the power of Ryan's, because there wasn't even a flicker of answering emotion on Ryan's face. Seth leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against the seatback in front of him, and took quick, shallow breaths to calm himself. He tried to think of other things, about anything besides being trapped like a rat. Summer in a bikini. The last Death Cab show he'd gone to with Anna. But those thoughts didn't exactly calm him (and oh, God, he was going to _jail_) so he closed his eyes and thought of being out on the ocean, the boat rolling beneath him, the bright water stretching endlessly around him, until he finally he could breathe again.

When the car pulled up at the police station Seth was surprised. For some reason he had thought they'd go straight to juvie, because that was what he'd always pictured happening to Ryan. He didn't actually know, because Ryan's previous stints in juvie were pretty high on the list of Ryan Atwood's Subjects I Refuse to Discuss, along with Ryan's mother's old boyfriends, and what Marissa looked like with her top off. Not that Ryan would ever make such a list. Seth might make one, but there wouldn't be much on it, not if he was being honest. 

Inside the police station, the cops took them to the front desk and removed their handcuffs. The desk clerk told Seth and Ryan to take off their jackets and shoes, and turn out their pockets. Ryan didn't have anything but his wallet and a lighter – no cigarettes, but he shrugged in an apologetic way when Seth gave him a questioning look. The desk clerk grinned when Seth pulled out his X-Men key chain – now minus the Swiss Army knife – and set it on the desk. He snickered outright when Seth pulled out a rolled-up Legion comic and the iPod that had been in the pockets of his jacket. 

"What?" Seth said, before he thought. "Dude, if your best friend was practically a mute, you'd come prepared, too." 

The clerk frowned, and Ryan hissed, "Seth. Shut up."

Seth nodded quickly. "Yes. Shutting up now." 

The clerk took down the rest of their information. He seemed suspicious when Ryan told him that he and Seth lived together ("You don't look like brothers to me") but didn't really listen to Seth's stammered explanation. He just shrugged and said he'd go call Seth's parents, an announcement that made Seth's stomach go cold, and his hands started shaking so badly he had trouble re-tying his Pumas. Ryan just looked at the floor, his hair falling in front of his eyes so Seth couldn't read his expression.

The officer Ryan had shoved – Seth could see now that his nametag read "Franklin" – leaned in and spoke to the clerk.

"Hey, where can I stash these guys?"

The clerk returned to the desk and flipped through a stack of papers.

"Tank's full, cells are full," he said. "Busy night." 

"Fridays. Bench?"

"Sure. You'll take babysitting duty?" said the clerk.

"Fine," Franklin said. He took Seth by the elbow, the other cop who'd arrested them took Ryan, and they led them back past the desks, to a dim hall that was empty except for a long wooden bench. The cop sat Ryan down at one end and took out a pair of handcuffs, securing one cuff to the arm of the bench and the other to Ryan's right wrist. Ryan was silent until Franklin cuffed Seth to the opposite end of the bench.

"Do you have to do that?" Ryan said. "You're getting him for, what, possession?"

"Don't forget the trespassing," Franklin said. "And eluding officers. I bet I can find more charges if you want to keep talking."

Ryan drew in a deep breath and quietly said, "I'm sorry." For the first time, Seth thought, he looked really scared. 

"We can't put you in with the adult prisoners," the officer continued, his voice a little less sharp now, and Seth looked up to find the officer was talking to him. "But this is just temporary, until we get through to your parents."

Seth nodded, but his mind was jumping. Parents. Prisoners. Not exactly the most comforting words. He, Seth Cohen, was a _prisoner_. He couldn't wrap his mind around that thought. He remembered visiting Ryan in juvie, the bars and the jumpsuits and that crazy guy who'd attacked Ryan, and he sent up a prayer to both Jesus and Moses that he wouldn't have to spend a night there. Seth had seen _Oz_. He knew what happened to guys like him in places like that. He slumped down in his seat.

"Either of you guys need food?" Franklin said, glancing down at the clipboard in his hand. "Drink of water? Bathroom?"

"Are you being nice, or is it the law that you have to ask us that?" Seth said, before he thought.

"_Seth_," Ryan said. 

"As a matter of fact, it is the law," Franklin said. He laughed, rather unpleasantly. "What's a smart kid like you doing in a place like this?"

Seth opened his mouth to reply, but then two things happened: Ryan shot him the Glare of Doom, which still sometimes had the power to render Seth silent, and somebody in the next room called out, "Hey, Franklin?" 

"Sit tight," the officer said. "Be right back."

As soon as he was gone, Ryan leaned toward Seth. He had turned on the moody scowl, full force.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ryan said. "He's not a nice guy, Seth."

"Not really."

"Well, don't antagonize him."

"You did," Seth pointed out, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the linoleum floor. 

"That's different."

"Why, because you were protecting me?"

Ryan shrugged. "It's just better if you stay quiet, and do what they want. They notice you less, and it's safer. You don't get hurt so much."

From Ryan, that was almost a speech. He'd probably used up a week's worth of words right there. 

"Are you talking about juvie?" Seth said cautiously. 

Ryan looked at the floor.

"I guess," he said.

"How come you never talked about this before?"

Ryan shrugged again, looking miserable.

"You never needed to hear it before."

For once in his life, Seth couldn't think of a single thing to say. He couldn't tell if Ryan was offering him advice or a confession, and he had no idea what to do with either. He leaned forward, trying to see Ryan's face, but Ryan caught him and turned his head away. 

A third cop – a new one – joined them in the hall, and pointed at Seth. 

"Seth Cohen?"

"That's me," Seth said. He stopped himself from asking how the officer had known. He might take it the wrong way, and besides, Seth guessed it was pretty obvious that Ryan wasn't a Cohen. 

"You need to come with me," the officer said. "We have a few questions to ask you." 

"Okay," Seth said nervously. "Just me?"

"Don't worry. Your buddy's up next."

The officer bent to unlock the cuff around Seth's wrist. When he was free, Seth rubbed his wrist and inspected it for red marks, then looked up in time to catch Ryan's eye-roll. Seth shrugged in response and Ryan shook his head and nearly smiled. 

Ryan was the one person who always knew what Seth was thinking.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Kirsten sucked on the end of her pen as she studied the paper in front of her. She squinted and ran a finger down a row of numbers, double-checking to make sure the expenses added up. Another mistake caught her eye and Kirsten frowned and plucked the pen out of her mouth to make a note next to it. She was finding far too many errors in these documents—a problem she found frustrating for the lack of diligence of her staff, and at the same time satisfying. She was a numbers person. She got a kick out of discovering other people's miscalculations.

That explained, at least in part, why it was nearly two a.m. and she was still sitting at her dining room table proofreading reports. Kristen loved her job. For all the bickering with her dad and the headaches dealing with incompetent contractors, she loved building homes for people.

But that was only part of the reason Kirsten was still awake. She pinched the bridge of her nose and glanced at the grandfather clock at the far end of the room. The boys were more than 30 minutes past their curfew.

She sighed. Before Ryan had come along, Seth had never missed a curfew. He'd never even needed a curfew. It seemed unfair to blame Ryan for the boys' tardiness now, but certainly Ryan had made mistakes in the past—serious mistakes that had made her slow to trust him and wary about taking him into her home. She knew he'd make more mistakes in the future, and she worried sometimes about what that might mean for him, and for her family.

But occasional teenaged lapses in judgment aside, both Seth and Ryan were responsible kids. And Kirsten trusted Ryan now—trusted him to be on his best behavior, stay out of trouble, and keep an eye on her son. Kirsten realized that might be an unfair amount of responsibility to place on a kid, but she also knew that Ryan put the pressure on himself more than anyone.

Still, it was late, and she was becoming annoyed. With Sandy out of town for several days visiting a college buddy in Santa Barbara, Kirsten was on single parent duty. Which meant she was in charge of keeping the boys in line. Disciplining them. She hated that. She was bad at it. More often than not Seth ended up talking her out of whatever punishment she tried to exact. And she hadn't even tried to discipline Ryan yet, gladly leaving that particular parenting job to Sandy.

But if the boys didn't get back soon, she was going to have to take some action. At the very least they'd deserve a lecture. Unless, she thought, they came up with a really good excuse. She hoped they had a good excuse.

Kirsten smiled and shook her head at her cowardice. Just the thought of a confrontation with Seth and Ryan was making her uptight. She turned to her papers and stuck her pen in her mouth, letting her thoughts drift back to her work.

All evening since the boys had left Kirsten had been keeping a running dialogue in her head of the things she wanted to teach Ryan this weekend. She imagined what questions he might ask, and how she could answer them in layman's terms without insulting his intelligence. Periodically she would even jot down notes of the things she wanted to tell him.

She'd realized this evening what a new experience this was for her, to have someone who shared her passion for her work. She'd been craving that kind of enthusiasm without even realizing it. Seth wasn't at all interested in her job, and that was fine by her; he was young and still lacking direction. Sandy showed polite curiosity in her work, and that was it. He was about as interested in property development as she was in the legal system.

But in Ryan she had a captive audience. In fact, Kirsten suspected that Ryan might have preferred spending this evening with her, going over zoning laws and environmental impact reports instead of hanging out with Seth. But Ryan was nothing if not loyal, and Kirsten recognized and approved of the brotherhood that was developing between her boys.

She smiled at that. Her boys.

Kirsten had to admit that part of her was pleased at the prospect of sharing her career with Ryan because she sensed it was what they both needed to bridge the gap in their relationship. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable gap. It wasn't anything that really needed fixing. But the gap was there, and she was certain Ryan recognized it too. They hadn't yet developed the same easy, affectionate relationship that had sprung up almost effortlessly between Ryan and the Cohen men. Kirsten's relationship with Ryan was gentle, even loving, but cautious on both their parts. Kirsten wondered, and hoped, that the career-oriented bond developing between them might relax them both a little.

The phone rang suddenly and Kirsten jumped. She glanced at the clock again: 1:50. It would be Seth. She hoped he'd come up with a good excuse. She picked up the portable phone on the table.

"Kirsten Cohen?"

Kirsten's stomach clenched painfully at the serious voice she didn't recognize.

"Yes?"

"This is Officer Reynolds with the Newport Beach Police Department."

"Oh my God. Seth. Is he okay?"

"Yes, ma'am, he's fine. We've got your son and Ryan Atwood at the station."

"What happened? Are you sure they're all right?" Kirsten stood and walked into the kitchen, already looking for her purse and keys.

"They're fine. We picked them up this evening."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Why don't you come down to the station and we'll explain everything, Mrs. Cohen."

"I'll be right there."

Kirsten turned off the phone and stood still in the middle of her kitchen for a moment. She rubbed at her neck and took a deep breath.

The boys were going to need a damned good excuse.

* * *

Kirsten had been to the Newport police station maybe three or four times in her life—the last time at least five years ago when she had to pay an overdue parking ticket—and she missed two turns on her drive there. She couldn't focus, her mind racing between fury at Seth and Ryan for getting into trouble with the police, and fear at what had happened to them. She clutched the steering wheel and drove too fast, coasting through stop signs and burning through yellow lights.

By the time she squealed to a stop in front of the police station Kirsten was far more furious than scared. She grabbed her purse and slammed the car door behind her, punching the alarm on her key chain without pausing in her stride to the front doors. She marched up to the front desk and didn't wait for the uniformed officer sitting there to acknowledge her before speaking.

"I'm here for my son."

The officer's head popped up and he squinted at Kirsten.

"Name?"

"Seth Cohen."

"Your name, ma'am."

Kirsten might have blushed under different circumstances, but she scowled instead.

"Kirsten Cohen."

The officer looked down at his desk, nodded, and set a clipboard on the chest-high counter in front of Kirsten.

"I'll need to see some ID," he said. Kirsten opened her wallet and fumbled with the pocket where she kept her driver's license. "You're also here for Ryan Atwood?"

"Yes," Kirsten said. She handed over her license. The officer studied her photo, studied Kirsten's face, then studied the photo some more. Kirsten gripped the edge of the counter and resisted the urge to tap her foot impatiently. He put her license back on the counter.

"Okay, sign in. Someone will be out to talk to you."

"Where are Seth and Ryan?"

"Just wait here, ma'am."

Kirsten glared at the officer, then signed her name on the clipboard and put her license back in her wallet. When the officer picked up a phone, presumably to find someone to talk to her, Kirsten turned around and walked toward a pair of plastic chairs near the front doors. She didn't sit.

Kirsten pulled out her cell phone and called Sandy again. She'd already tried him four times on the drive to the police station, but got the same "out of service" message each time. She couldn't even leave a message on his voicemail. The fifth phone call didn't work either, and Kirsten snapped her phone shut with an angry smack of her palm. She pushed her hair back from her face and crossed her arms over her chest.

Several minutes passed before a new officer arrived at the front desk. He spoke quietly to the cop at the front desk, then lifted his head and looked at Kirsten. She quickly walked up to him.

"Where's my son?"

"I'll take you to him in a moment, Mrs. Cohen. He's fine, but he got himself into a bit of trouble."

"What happened?"

The officer didn't answer right away, stepping up to the counter instead to unlock a low door that led into the heart of the police station. He held it open for Kirsten and she stepped past him.

"I'm Officer Wu, Mrs. Cohen," the cop said. He didn't bother offering to shake hands, and Kirsten kept her arms folded over her chest. "Your son and Mr. Atwood, Ryan, were caught drinking and trespassing tonight."

"Drinking? Trespassing? Where were they?"

"A construction site near the Cove. They'd climbed a fence. We found them in a half-built model home."

Kirsten closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A model home. It figured. She felt a rush of angry déjà vu and dug her fingers into her sides.

"Where did they get the alcohol?"

"A liquor store. They said someone bought it for them."

Kirsten shook her head. She couldn't imagine why Seth would do something so stupid, so completely brainless. He knew better than this. He was smarter than this. So was Ryan.

"Are they okay?"

"They're fine, Mrs. Cohen. We're talking to Ryan now, but I can take you to see your son."

Kirsten nodded and followed the cop through the police station, past rows of mostly empty desks flooded with papers. An officer near the back of the main room was on the phone, having a loud, crude conversation with someone about a man who had apparently been arrested that night. At the back of the room Officer Wu turned right down a hallway, and Kirsten turned too, but not before glancing the other way. Beyond a heavy barred door, she watched a cop push an overweight, barefoot man, his hands cuffed behind him, into a cell. The man was yelling at the cop. Kirsten rubbed her neck and pulled her purse closer to her body.

They turned another corner and Kirsten saw Seth. She stopped. Her son sat on a long bench, his head bowed low, almost to his knees, so she couldn't see his face. His hand was cuffed to the bench. Her son was locked up and miserable. Kirsten felt a rush of panic.

"Seth."

He lifted his head at her voice. His face was so pale he looked faint.

"Mom," he said. She swallowed hard at the way his voice trembled. Kirsten quickly walked the last few steps to his side.

"Oh God, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Seth said quietly.

Kirsten bent over and folded him into a hug, pressing his head to her shoulder. She ran a hand over his back when she felt him shaking in her arms.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," he said, mumbling into her shirt. "God, I'm sorry. It was my fault. I just wanted to hang out. It was so stupid, we were so stupid. I'm sorry."

Kirsten crouched in front of Seth and held him away from her, studying his face. She rubbed his arms, raised a hand to touch his hair. He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye.

"What's going to happen to us?"

"Everything's going to be fine," Kirsten said. She squeezed his shoulders and stood. "But when we get home, you are in a world of trouble. What were you thinking?"

Seth shrugged and shook his head.

"We were bored. Chino night sounded like fun."

"Chino night?" Kirsten crossed her arms again and Seth cringed, clearly understanding that she was losing her patience. He looked down at his hands.

"In Chino, Ryan and his friends used to just hang out drinking all night."

"And he thought it'd be fun to show you how kids have a good time in Chino."

Kirsten's horror over seeing her son in jail, handcuffed to a bench, was quickly being replaced by a new fury. The blood was rushing to her face and she felt her cheeks flushing.

"No, Mom-"

"Ma'am?"

Kirsten turned toward Officer Wu.

"We need you to fill out some paperwork, and then you can take your son home."

"Do you have to keep him locked up like this?"

"I'm afraid so. Department policy."

Kirsten sighed and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Okay. Let's get this over with."

"Mom, what about Ryan? What happens to him?"

Kirsten frowned and glanced at the cop, who just shook his head. Kirsten nodded slowly and pinched her lips together in a tight line. She'd trusted Ryan. She'd trusted him to look after her son, to be the responsible one and keep them out of trouble. She'd expected too much from him.

"I'll be right back, Seth," she said, and followed the cop away from her son.

Officer Wu led her back to the center of the police station and stopped at a cluttered desk, where he pulled out a chair for her before sitting down himself. He rifled through the papers on his desk until he found what he was looking for and stapled three sheets of paper together. He handed them to her with a pen.

"Mrs. Cohen, before you get started on those, I need to talk to you about Ryan."

Kirsten looked up from the top paper. Officer Wu was leaning forward at his desk, his hands folded neatly in front of him. Kirsten set the pen down.

"I told you that your son and Ryan were taken into custody for trespassing and drinking. But we've also arrested Ryan for assault on an officer."

It took a moment for the words to register, and then Kirsten felt her breath cut short and she covered her mouth with her hand. Assault. Ryan had assaulted somebody. And not just anybody: a cop.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Ryan and your son tried to run away after we found them. We caught up to them and stopped them, and when my partner moved to detain your son, Ryan pushed him away."

Kirsten dropped her hand from her mouth and rubbed at her neck. "Ryan pushed him?"

"Yes, ma'am. We were forced to draw our weapons and restrain him, and your son, at that point." Officer Wu paused and sat up straighter behind his desk. "I'm afraid this is a fairly serious offense."

"I understand," Kirsten said, but that wasn't even close to true. She couldn't understand how any of this could be happening. Ryan had attacked a police officer. He'd been held at gunpoint. Her son—her _child_—had been held at gunpoint. It was the middle of the night and she was sitting in a police station trying to get Seth out of jail. None of this made any sense at all.

"Ryan is your foster child?" Officer Wu asked. Kirsten nodded slowly, not quite listening. Her ears were ringing and everything around her sounded muffled and felt unreal.

She cleared her throat. "We're his legal guardians."

"Have there been any problems?"

"How do you mean?"

Officer Wu was still leaning forward, studying her carefully. But his eyes were soft. "Since Ryan came to live with you, has he had problems getting along with your family? Have there been any incidents of violence, or inappropriate behavior?"

Kirsten looked at her hands in her lap and thought about the fights—the ones she knew about, and the ones she knew he'd never mentioned. In six months he'd suffered more black eyes and split lips and bruised knuckles than Seth, and maybe Sandy too, had in a lifetime. And she knew he wasn't blameless.

"Ryan's had a tough time adjusting," she said carefully, twisting her fingers together.

The cop nodded slowly and offered her a brief, kind smile.

"Well, we're talking with the juvenile probation department now. We'll need to determine what's best for Ryan, and your family. If there's been a pattern of violence…" He tilted his head and watched her as he let the words hang over them.

Kirsten wanted to tell Officer Wu that Ryan was a good kid. She _knew_ Ryan was a good kid. But even in her head, the words sounded flat and baseless right now. She'd taken Ryan into her home, into her family, and she'd supported him every way she knew how, and suddenly it seemed as though nothing had changed and none of it mattered. All of her earlier doubts, her worries about Ryan, were becoming real. Ryan had gotten arrested. He'd broken into another home. He'd hit a cop.

She didn't know what to think. It felt like there was nothing she could do for him.

"Go ahead and finish with that paperwork," the cop said finally. "I'm getting some coffee. Did you want some?"

Kirsten shook her head and picked up the pen again. Coffee was the last thing she needed. She didn't think she'd ever felt less tired in her life.

* * *

As the officer led Ryan back to the bench where Seth still sat, Ryan closed his hands into fists to hide how they'd started shaking. He didn't have his watch anymore and he didn't know how much time had passed, but he thought they'd kept him in that room twice as long as they'd kept Seth. Of course, they wouldn't have had to give Seth a lecture on violating his probation, or study a list of his past crimes, or make snide remarks about model homes and arson. When Ryan told them that he only used his lighter for cigarettes, he got scolded for underage smoking. Then one of the officers actually wrote it down. Another note in his file. Smoking was the only thing Ryan confessed to, however. He knew enough to refuse questions about that night until he had a lawyer present. The officers agreed, because they had to, but they weren't pleased by his silence.

Seth was slumped down on the bench when Ryan returned, his long legs stuck out in front of him and his head leaning back against the wall. He drummed his fingers on his knee and ran his free hand through his hair until it stood out on side.

"What's wrong?" Ryan said, as the cop cuffed him to the bench again. He noticed his voice was shaking, too, so he took a deep breath and tried to steady himself for Seth.

"My mom's here," Seth said, and swallowed hard. "She's filling out some paperwork, I guess. She's, uh, pretty pissed. We're in serious trouble when we get home, dude."

"Yeah," Ryan said. "Well, we deserve it."

"I guess," Seth said. "But maybe you haven't seen my mom when she's pissed like this. It's kind of scary. It hardly ever happens – maybe, like, once a year, and Dad and I just know to stay out of the way. Too bad I don't have a pool house, too. Might come in handy for escapes."

"You can use mine," Ryan said. "If you don't track in dirt."

"I may just take you up on that offer," Seth said. "That is, unless we're grounded from each other. Would they do that, do you think? Because that would suck. It wouldn't be any fun at all."

"It's punishment," Ryan pointed out. "I don't think it's supposed to be fun."

"But we're like brothers, Ryan, and it's wrong to separate brothers," Seth said. He was sitting up straight now. "You know, family values and all that."

"Somehow I don't think your parents are going to go for that one."

"I'll work on them," Seth promised. He gave Ryan a small smile, which Ryan struggled to return, as they were joined by a pair of officers.

"All right, you're free to go," said the officer who had been working at the front desk. Ryan looked up, relief flooding through his whole body, and caught the officer's eye. The officer looked away immediately.

"Not you," he said. "Him. Cohen."

The words hit Ryan like a kick to the stomach. He couldn't move or speak, couldn't even breathe for a moment. He could only watch as the officer unlocked Seth's handcuffs, and took Seth's arm, pulling him to his feet.

"Your mother's waiting," he said. "Let's go get your stuff."

"Wait," Seth said, resisting the officer's efforts to pull him away. "Wait, what about Ryan?"

"Come on, kid," the officer said, yanking on Seth's arm.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me."

"I'm telling you it's time to go now," the officer said. "And we're going."

Ryan looked from Seth's panicked face to the cop's angry one, and he couldn't take it any more. He didn't want Seth to get hurt, and if he had to watch much more of Seth's helpless display of loyalty, he was going to cry. If he cried, he'd break down completely.

"Seth, go," he said, his voice harsher than he'd intended.

"No," Seth said, but Ryan's words seemed to weaken him, and he slumped in the officer's grasp.

* * *

When he was alone, Ryan found he couldn't fight the panic and it settled in his stomach and crawled over his skin, making him feel cold and nauseated. They might send him away. They might not let him go home. He'd failed himself, and worse, he'd failed Seth.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard footsteps coming toward him. Ryan glanced up at the approaching cop, one of the two officers who had arrested him and Seth. The cop Ryan had pushed. He stopped in front of Ryan, his face unreadable.

"We've spoken with the probation department and your legal guardian about the charges filed against you," the cop said. "It's been decided that, pending a hearing in juvenile court, you're to remain in custody. We're transferring you to the juvenile detention center."

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. He should have been preparing for this, steeling himself for the worst that could happen. But even thinking about it was unbearable. They'd spoken with Kirsten and she'd let him go. He was being sent back to juvie.

His eyes shot open when he felt the cop reach for him, and Ryan leaned away. The cop glared at him and Ryan swallowed and forced himself to still. When the handcuff was off his wrist, the cop gripped Ryan's upper arm and pulled him up. Ryan stood, dazed and numb, as the cop yanked his arms behind him and locked the handcuffs back in place.

His mind raced forward to the horrible ordeal—the humiliation, the terror, the constant anxiety—he now faced. It seemed unreal that just eight hours ago he had been safe and comfortable. His worst thought then had been the party Marissa was going to without him, and trying to find distraction in an English assignment. But no matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to come back to this place, alone and scared, his future out of his hands. This fate was inescapable.

The cop walked him through the police station, and even at this early hour it was humming with activity. Ryan could hear loud phone conversations, papers rustling, somebody typing—but the sounds seemed dulled, like they were coming from very far away. They stopped in front of a desk, where the cop escorting Ryan asked another officer about the van that would take him to juvie. Ryan felt his stomach twist and he swallowed down the panic that was threatening again. He blinked rapidly and forced himself to take in his surroundings, look for anything to make him stop thinking about what was happening to him.

At the far end of the room, near the counter that separated the station from the lobby, Seth and Kirsten were talking to the other officer who had arrested Ryan. Seth stood very still, his head bowed and his hands buried in his pockets. Kirsten clutched her purse, listening to the cop but casting frequent glances at her son. She looked exhausted. Her face was drawn and pale, and she was wearing the same jeans and sweatshirt Ryan had seen her in when they'd left that night.

That was when she had been smiling and teaching him about blueprints. He'd been tempted to back out of his plans with Seth and spend the evening hanging out with Kirsten instead. He wondered what time she'd been called, if they had woken her up with news that her son had been arrested, or if she had still been studying her blueprints.

Kirsten moved a hand to her neck. She seemed so wrong, so uncomfortable here. Ryan was torn between wishing she would look up and see him, and hoping he would never have to see the disappointment he was certain would be on her face.

And then she did look up, and they briefly locked eyes, and it was worse than disappointment. He saw nothing there. No disappointment, no anger. She looked away before he did, focused on the cop again. Ryan dropped his head and blinked back new tears.

* * *

Officer Wu followed Kirsten's glance toward Ryan, and when she faced him again he offered her a sympathetic smile. When she didn't return his smile, his face grew serious again and he stiffened, straightening his shoulders and resting one hand on the butt of his gun. It wasn't a threatening gesture, but she stepped back slightly anyway and reached for Seth, brushing her fingers against his arm.

"What will happen to Ryan?" she asked. She felt Seth tense next to her and resisted the urge to wrap an arm over his shoulders and pull him to her.

"He's been assigned to the juvenile detention center until his case is resolved. He'll have to appear before the judge within 72 hours, not including the weekend, so he'll be there for a few days at least."

Seth snapped out of his silence at that, speaking for the first time since he'd been released to Kirsten.

"What? He's going back to juvie?" Seth's eyes were wide with panic as he looked quickly between Kirsten and the cop. "Mom, do something. This isn't fair."

Kirsten closed her eyes, the exhaustion and horror of the night only now catching up with her. She hadn't allowed herself time to think about what was going to happen to Ryan. She hadn't considered that he'd end up back in juvie, even if it seemed obvious now. But Ryan had crossed a line tonight. He'd made a mistake that wouldn't easily be fixed.

Kirsten opened her eyes and glanced at Officer Wu, who raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Seth, Ryan attacked a police officer and he was on probation," Kirsten said. "He knew the consequences. There's nothing I can do."

"You can't let him go back there," Seth said, his voice hushed as though he didn't want the cop to hear their conversation.

"It's out of my hands," Kirsten said. "And you're not really in a place to make demands."

Seth looked like he wanted to say more, but Kirsten stared at him and he closed his mouth before turning sharply away from her.

"We'll be taking Ryan out in a few minutes," Officer Wu said, breaking an awkward silence. "Did you want to see him?"

"Yes," Seth said.

Kirsten shook her head. "You wait here," she said, then looked at the cop.

She knew she couldn't leave without speaking to Ryan, but she had no idea what to say to him. Her emotions were too close to the surface. She felt angry and betrayed, but it wasn't something she could yet articulate. And Ryan was smart. He would catch on to her disappointment no matter what she said.

Officer Wu nodded his head toward the back of the station, and Kirsten followed him to Ryan.

He was staring at the floor when she walked up to him. Kirsten didn't say anything for a moment, and wasn't even sure if he knew she was there. His head was bowed so low that his bangs completely obscured his eyes. With his shoulders slumped and his hands cuffed behind him, Ryan seemed unfamiliar to her. He wasn't the boy she knew. He could have been any one of Sandy's criminal clients—kids who sold drugs or mugged strangers on the street. Kids who stole cars. Kids who attacked cops.

"I'm sorry," Ryan said without looking up. His voice was flat, the words muffled, but she understood anyway. He shuffled on his feet, backing slightly away from her. Kirsten kept her voice even when she finally spoke to him. She didn't want to give him false hope, couldn't reassure him.

"I'll talk to Sandy in the morning," she said. "They say you'll have to spend a few days in juvenile hall until we figure out what happens next."

Next. Not necessarily home, her home. Kirsten wondered if either one of them really understood that. If Ryan knew how much had changed in the past few hours.

Ryan nodded.

"Is Seth-"

"Seth is fine," Kirsten said.

They stood awkwardly for several seconds, neither speaking. Kirsten rubbed her hands together. She couldn't reach out to him now, hug him goodbye. It would be too much, for both of them.

"Ryan…" she started, and he looked up at her finally. She held his gaze for a moment but soon looked away, unable to tolerate the shame she saw on his face. She closed her mouth and considered what she wanted to say to him. She hadn't forgotten what she'd seen in juvie so many months ago. She knew what Ryan was walking into, and she knew there was nothing she could do or say to make it any easier for him. Kirsten glanced behind her, at Seth, who was watching them from the other side of the counter.

"Be careful," she said, looking back at Ryan and meeting his eyes. "We'll talk to you in a couple days."

Before he could say anything she turned and walked quickly away, pausing at the counter so a cop could let her out. She slid through the door before it was even open all the way then pushed Seth with a hand on his back toward the main entrance in the lobby. Seth waved once at Ryan, and then they were outside and Kirsten took a deep breath. She tried not to think about what came next.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

In the third grade, Seth had killed a hamster. Actually killed it. It had been his turn to take the class pet home for a weekend, and in the middle of the night the hamster—its name was Brutus—had escaped from the cage that Seth had forgotten to lock. Seth, on his way to the bathroom, had stepped on it and crushed it with his bare foot. He'd felt its back break and when the hamster squealed Seth had screamed in shock. He'd been totally inconsolable for a good 36 hours.

Right now, he felt even worse.

He was pretty sure the knot that had settled in his stomach roughly six hours ago would never go away. He couldn't imagine ever being able to eat or sleep again, not with this kind of guilt consuming him.

It wasn't the arrest, or the lectures from three different cops, or having to face his mom while locked in handcuffs, or making her so angry that she refused to speak to him. He'd abandoned his best friend in jail. Seth was going back to his own home and his own bed, and Ryan was even at this moment being locked up in this scary place that Seth didn't even want to imagine. Seth would be grounded, most likely until he was married with kids of his own. And Ryan got to rot in jail. Not that people actually rotted in jail, or even that Ryan was going to jail, exactly, but the semantics didn't matter.

This was all so unfair.

"Mom," Seth began, turning to face his mother in the car.

"I don't want to hear it. Not right now," she said.

Seth lowered his head and studied his hands in his lap. His free hands. When he'd last seen Ryan, his hands had been locked behind his back. And Seth, from across the room, hadn't been able to offer so much as an apology. Waving goodbye to Ryan in a police station in the middle of the night had been the most depressing experience of his life. No competition.

It was getting light by the time his mom pulled up in front of their house. Seth followed her inside, neither of them saying a word. In the entryway she stopped, and seemed to collect herself, and when she turned around to face him Seth realized just how exhausted his mom looked. Her hair was flying around her face from where it had come undone from its ponytail.

"Consider yourself grounded indefinitely until I can come up with a more suitable punishment," she said.

Seth nodded and turned toward the stairs, but paused before he started hiking up to his room.

"Can I say something?"

His mom sighed and gave him a look that told him he'd better make it fast, and it had better be important.

"Look, this was all my fault. It was my idea to go out."

"Was it your idea to drink and trespass on private property?"

"No. Well, yeah. Sort of."

She closed her eyes and swept a hand over her face, pushing the strands of hair off her forehead.

"Go to bed. We'll talk about it later."

"What about Ryan, Mom?"

"What about him?"

Seth felt sick at the flat tone of her voice, and he remembered the way she'd looked at the police station, the way she'd been reluctant to go to Ryan until a cop had asked her if she wanted to say goodbye to him. Even from across the room Seth had been able to tell that she was pissed off while they were talking. Ryan must have felt it too. She'd made no move to touch him—not even a pat on the arm. When she'd returned to Seth's side, she'd been dry-eyed and curt, eager to leave. She'd walked away without so much as a wave or backward glance to Ryan.

"Don't blame him. It's not his fault."

"Seth."

"I know you hate him for what happened, but-"

"I don't hate him," she said. "Why would you say that?"

"You just left him there. You didn't try to help him. You weren't even sad when they took him away."

Seth only realized what he was saying as the words escaped him, but he knew he meant it.

"If it'd been me, if they'd wanted to send me to juvie, would you have let them just take me like that?" Seth asked, taking several steps toward her. "You saw what juvie's like, Mom, but you let him go back there anyway."

"Stop it. Now."

Seth recognized when it was time to shut up, but he was fuming now and it took all his energy to keep his mouth closed and not say anything else he might regret. They stared at each other for a long moment and Seth was very aware of how hard he was breathing.

"Ryan isn't a child. He should have known better, Seth."

"Yeah, well, I should've known better too."

Seth didn't wait for his mom to respond. He turned away from her and headed up the stairs, suddenly feeling very tired. He shut the door behind him once he'd reached his bedroom and kicked his shoes off as he walked toward the bed. He collapsed on top of the covers and bunched the pillow up under his head, and tried hard not to think about where Ryan was at that moment, and when he might see him again. He didn't fall asleep for a long time.

* * *

It was a fairly short drive from Newport to Orange so early on a Saturday morning. Ryan wasn't able to sleep, but the rumble of the van was somewhat soothing nonetheless, and he'd managed to push back some of his anxiety by the time they stopped. Outside, the sky was bright and gray. He blinked up at the looming concrete building, painted a deceptively soft orange. He'd been through all this before. Knowing what came next just made it all worse, but he bit back the panic that again threatened to overwhelm him. He took a deep breath and allowed himself to be led inside, flinching only a little when the doors locked behind him with a loud click.

Inside, the lobby might have looked like any other office building if not for the cops milling about or the three other boys who sat, handcuffed, in hard plastic chairs. Ryan was led to an empty chair near the front counter.

"Stay here," the officer said, and went up to the counter. He left a stack of paperwork with a woman there and then left without another word. Ryan slumped forward in his chair, determined not to make eye contact with anyone. He'd been so stupid to think he might never have to go through this again. He had to find his balance again, his control, his dull center where nothing would phase him. He'd need that now.

"Atwood." Ryan looked up to see a man in the doorway wearing the uniform of the guards in juvie, an orange polo and chinos. He scanned the clipboard in his hands and beckoned to Ryan, who got to his feet.

He was led down a short hallway to a small room that contained only an examination table, a cabinet on rollers and a urinal in the corner. The guard removed his handcuffs and told Ryan to take off his shoes and jacket, along with his watch and wrist cuff. Everything but the shoes went in a plastic tub. The guard made a list of all Ryan's personal items and handed it to Ryan for a signature. As he was signing, a nurse in green scrubs entered the room.

"Have a seat on the table," she said. Ryan climbed up, the paper crinkling under him. The nurse took the clipboard from the guard and pulled up a chair next to the examination table.

"First, a few questions," she said. "Have you ever been treated or received counseling for an emotional problem?"

Ryan shook his head.

"Ever been hospitalized for a mental or emotional problem?"

He shook his head again.

"Are you currently on medications or prescription drugs?"

"No."

"Do you ever have thoughts of suicide or experience the desire to harm yourself in any way?"

"No, never," Ryan said. For just a second, he thought of Marissa, but he had to push those thoughts away. He couldn't think about everything he was losing. He took a deep breath and focused on the white cinderblock wall in front him.

The nurse asked more questions about his mental and physical health, his history of drug use and whether he had any tattoos before she seemed satisfied and stood up, handing the clipboard to the guard and snapping on a pair of rubber gloves. She took his temperature and his blood pressure, then tied a length of rubber around his right arm and drew blood. Ryan looked at his feet while the needle went in. After she had taped a bandage into the crook of his elbow, she handed him a cup and told him to give her a urine sample. He hoped the nurse might leave the room, but as he crossed to the urinal she remained in the chair, talking quietly to the guard. Ryan turned his back and clenched his jaw to ward off the embarrassment.

When he was done, the guard told Ryan to put his shoes back on.

"Keep your hands behind your back when we're moving around the unit," he said. "I don't care what anyone does or says to you, you keep them there, all right?"

Ryan nodded and clasped his hands behind him. He wondered if there was a note in his file now that said he was violent. He wondered if anyone could tell how scared he was, because no matter how many times he went through this, it never got easier.

The guard took him back through the front lobby to an adjoining office, where a couple of other boys were lined up in front of a desk. When he reached the front of the line he was fingerprinted, and the guard pulled him behind the desk to stand in front of a white screen.

"Look at the camera," he said, and Ryan lifted his head. The flash was blinding, and he blinked several times to clear the afterimage from his vision. "Now turn to the left." He obeyed, the colors still floating in front of his eyes. He didn't know why he had to go through this again. It had only been six months since he'd last been locked up. It wasn't as though his fingerprints had changed. He thought maybe his face had changed, though he wasn't sure how.

The guard gripped Ryan's elbow lightly and walked him down another hallway, and he felt his heart pounding as he guessed what came next. He tried to fight the panic. Twelve hours ago he had been in his pool house, lounging on a bed and worrying about his girlfriend. He'd been safe and comfortable in a way that was still new to him. But it had been so easy to adjust to that new life, where his security wasn't constantly in question, where he didn't have to worry about anyone but himself. He nearly laughed at himself, now, for thinking he could leave all this behind.

Kirsten hadn't been disappointed in him. She hadn't been angry. She had expected this, and he should have too. He'd set himself up for this fall. It wouldn't happen again. When they stopped before the last door, Ryan set his shoulders, clenched his fists behind his back, and took a deep breath.

The room was bright and small, barely the size of his bed in the pool house. A bench ran along one wall, and the plastic tub that held his jacket and other belongings sat on it, along with a towel and soap and a small bottle of shampoo. Along another wall was a long metal rail that Ryan knew was used to restrain kids who got out of control. Straight ahead of him was an open, tiled room for showers.

"You been here before?"

"Yeah," Ryan said, still facing away.

"Then you know what's going to happen," the guard said. "I'll be checking for contraband, drugs and weapons. If you're hiding anything it's best to tell me now."

Ryan didn't bother to answer. He didn't have anything, but nothing he said would make a difference.

"Turn around and face me," the guard said, and Ryan did as he was told. "Open your mouth."

He looked up at the ceiling as the guard peered into his mouth with a penlight. He wasn't just losing his freedom, he was losing everything. They'd already taken away his jacket and his wrist cuff, the watch the Cohens had given him. They were just possessions, maybe, but he had come to depend on the security of them: the leather bands around each wrist, the soft cotton of the T-shirts Kirsten bought him. But even his body didn't belong to him now.

Ryan licked his lips when the guard was done inspecting his mouth. He swallowed hard and prayed he wouldn't throw up in here. He set his jaw and forced himself to relax. This was only the beginning.

"Run your hands over your head."

Ryan pulled his fingers through his hair, bending his head to let the guard see better. His hair felt slightly greasy. He wondered when he would ever feel clean again.

"Give me your shoes and socks."

The last time he'd been taken to juvie the guard had let him sit while he stripped, but he wasn't given permission this time and he didn't ask. Ryan untied his shoes and kicked them off, then awkwardly bent over to peel off his socks.

"Hand them to me."

Ryan handed them over reluctantly. Kirsten had bought him the boots to replace the battered shoes he'd carried over from Chino. These new boots were no longer shiny, but the leather was still stiff, not quite broken in. The guard slipped on a pair of plastic gloves and studied Ryan's shoes, reaching a hand inside to feel for weapons or drugs. He did the same with his socks, then balled the socks up in the shoes and set them both in the plastic tub.

The floor was cold, and Ryan rubbed one bare foot over the other. The guard gave him a sharp look, and he stopped and stood flat-footed.

"All right. Take off your shirt."

Ryan stripped off his T-shirt and handed it to the guard, who ran it slowly through his fingers. Ryan wanted desperately to cross his arms over his chest, to hunch his shoulders and make himself smaller somehow. He was already shaking from the cold and fear. The guard folded his shirt neatly and set it in the tub.

"Hold your arms out to your sides, fingers apart."

Ryan extended his arms and splayed his fingers so the guard could look between them. He had a sudden and strange memory of playing Snoopy in the eighth grade musical, and his teacher shouting: _jazz hands, people!_ when they danced. He almost smiled at the ridiculousness of that memory.

"Arms up, over your head."

The guard leaned forward, inspecting Ryan's chest and his stomach and under his arms and Ryan was still amused, in a grim sort of way. He might be the only person in the world who would think of musicals while he was being strip searched.

"Take off your pants," the guard said. Ryan closed his eyes, and nothing was funny anymore. He unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, letting them drop to his ankles, and crouched down to pick them up. As he handed them to the guard he noticed how much his hands were shaking. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck was standing on end. He ground his teeth together to stop them from chattering. The guard carefully inspected the seams of his pants, and put his hands in the pockets, before putting them in the tub too.

"Your underwear."

Ryan's mouth went dry and he swallowed hard. His hands were clumsy as he took off his boxers, stumbling a little when he tried to balance on one leg. The guard's attention was focused on the boxers as he examined them, but Ryan felt sick at the exposure. He finally gave in to the cold and wrapped his arms around his chest. His legs and arms and shoulders were so tense that the muscles were beginning to ache.

"Spread your legs apart," the guard said, his attention back on Ryan, who took a deep breath. He wanted to close his eyes again, but that would just leave him more vulnerable, so he stared straight ahead at nothing. The guard knelt down. "How'd you get that bruise on your knee?"

Ryan glanced at his leg.

"I don't remember," he said. The guard wrote something on the clipboard.

"We're almost done," he said. "Go ahead and face the wall."

Ryan obeyed, putting his palms on the wall without being told. The solidity of the wall was kind of comforting. He rested his weight on his arms and sighed.

When he had finished the search, the guard handed him the towel and shower supplies and stayed in the room, watching but not staring, as Ryan showered. The water was warm, but Ryan was still shaking all over, so much that he nearly dropped the plastic shampoo bottle. The shampoo was dark brown and smelled like Lysol, much stronger than the sandalwood-scented one he had in the pool house. He figured it contained some kind of delousing ingredient.

When he had dried off the guard handed him a stack of clothes—white T-shirt, white socks, white underwear, blue jumpsuit, canvas shoes with no laces – and told him to get dressed. All the items of clothing looked pretty shabby, and Ryan tried not to think of how many people had worn them before. He snapped up the jumpsuit and realized he'd finally stopped shaking. He felt numb now. His mind was foggy, his arms and legs felt heavy. He was glad for the change. He was glad to stop shaking.

The guard opened the door and Ryan followed him down the long corridor, keeping his hands behind his back like he was supposed to. Everything was just as he'd remembered it. He'd spent the last six months surrounded by windows, water and sky, but now he saw nothing but cracked and grimy walls. As they walked he became aware of new sounds, heavy doors slamming shut and loud angry voices and an alarm shrilling in the distance. They turned a corner and Ryan saw the barred gate that led to the intake unit. He slowed down, but the guard looked back at him.

"Come on," he said, and grabbed Ryan by the arm. Ryan pulled away automatically, but the guard kept his hold and yanked Ryan back toward him. They stopped at the gate and Ryan's guard nodded at a guard on the other side. The door buzzed open, and Ryan was back in juvie.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The minute hand on the grandfather clock trembled, ready to lock into place and mark another hour's passing. It was Sunday night, and Sandy would be home soon. He should have been home an hour ago.

Kirsten was on her second glass of wine, sitting at the dining room table with her blueprints still scattered around, a pen in her left hand tapping in time to the ticking of the clock. She was well aware of the time, and still she jumped slightly in her chair when the chimes rang in nine o'clock. She finished the last third of her wine in one greedy swallow.

Her dinner, leftover Chinese that she had ordered the night before, sat untouched on a plate at her side. Seth had eaten earlier, alone in the den. They had hardly spoken at all over the weekend. Seth had mostly avoided her, and she'd let him, sticking to her work in the dining room. With Sandy gone and Seth not speaking to her, it had been one of the quietest—and least productive—weekends of her life.

She didn't feel guilty. She felt bad for Ryan, and she worried for his safety. But she didn't feel guilty.

A car pulled up the driveway and Kirsten glanced at the clock again. It was just a few minutes after nine. She stood and carried her dinner into the kitchen, where she poured herself another glass of wine and waited for Sandy. She'd left several messages for him since Seth and Ryan had been arrested, but he'd never called, and so she assumed he knew nothing of what had happened.

"Hey. I miss anything?" Sandy said cheerfully as he walked into the kitchen.

He stopped in front of Kirsten and kissed her once before drawing her into a quick hug.

"What a great weekend," he said, pulling away and turning toward the refrigerator. "Brad hasn't changed at all. I haven't seen the guy in what, five years? And I swear he's just as careless as he was at Boalt. You'll never believe-"

"Your son got arrested," she said, the words spilling out. That was not how she'd planned to tell him. Kirsten reached for the glass of wine on the counter next to her, then thought better of it and poured it into the sink instead.

"What?"

Sandy, standing before the open refrigerator, swung around to face her.

"Seth was arrested."

"What for? Where is he?"

"Drinking and trespassing. He's upstairs."

"Seth got arrested," Sandy repeated, slowly. He let the refrigerator door swing closed and rested his palms on the island counter. "When? Why didn't you call me?"

"Your cell phone wasn't working. I left messages."

"I don't…Seth?"

Sandy shook his head, his hair flopping over his forehead. Kirsten had been bugging him to get it cut for weeks, but he teased that he was growing it out, a rebellion against the corporate culture that now trapped him.

"What about Ryan? Where was he when this happened?"

"Ryan was arrested too," Kirsten said. "They were having a Chino night."

"Chino night?"

"That's what I said," Kirsten said. "Hanging out, drinking. They got picked up Friday night at a construction site. Seth was let off with a warning."

Sandy frowned, and Kirsten watched as first disappointment, then anger flashed across his face.

"What the hell were they thinking? Ryan's on probation. He knows better than that. They both know better than that."

Sandy sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face.

"So I take it they're both grounded, right?" Sandy asked. "Have you talked to Ryan's probation officer? Does Child Services know about it yet? Damn it, what a mess. I don't know how to get through to that kid just how precarious his situation is."

Sandy walked around the counter and toward the back door, toward the dark pool house.

"Sandy," Kirsten said, "Ryan isn't here."

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked at Kirsten.

"He's in juvenile hall."

"What?"

"The police sent him back there," she said. "He attacked a cop. They arrested him for assault."

"Assault? Why would he do that?"

"I don't know, Sandy. Ask Seth. He seemed to think it was justified."

"You didn't ask Ryan?"

"I barely had a chance to talk to him," Kirsten said. "The police told me he was being sent back to juvenile hall and then they took him away."

"And you let them?" Sandy said. "Did you mention my name? Did you tell the cops that I'm his lawyer? His legal guardian?"

"No, but-"

"Kirsten, those cops, they're friends of mine. You know that," Sandy said, his voice rising as he stepped around the counter toward her. "They wouldn't put Ryan away if they didn't absolutely have to. Hell, they're usually looking for any excuse to _not_ lock kids up."

"They didn't give me a choice," Kirsten said. She paused and tugged at her wedding ring. "Sandy, you weren't there. They had Seth in handcuffs. Our son was chained to a bench."

"And so you let them take Ryan away because you were upset? Because you were mad at him?"

"No, of course not," she said, shaking her head. Kirsten crossed her arms, her hands balled into fists, and felt the muscles in her shoulders tense. "I'm not the one you should be yelling at, Sandy."

"I'm not yelling," he grumbled, his voice notably softer. Kirsten ignored the interruption.

"I'm not the one who got arrested," she said. "I get a phone call in the middle of the night that the boys have been taken to jail, and then I find out that Ryan has attacked a police officer. What was I supposed to do?"

"Talk them out of it. Call one of my partners at the firm. Bribe the cops if you have to. _Fight_ for him."

Kirsten wanted to tell him that was easy to say now, two days later, when their son was safe at home and they were on their own turf, in their own kitchen, with time to talk and plan. She wanted to tell him it wasn't that simple, fighting for Ryan when he wouldn't fight for himself. But she couldn't find the words to define her anger and disappointment.

"I couldn't do anything for him," she said.

"Did you even try?"

Kirsten pinched her lips together and stared out the kitchen window into their dark backyard. She could barely make out their reflections in the glass.

"I didn't have a choice, Sandy," she said quietly.

"Yeah, you said that." In the window, Kirsten saw Sandy rub a hand over his face. When she turned to face him again, he shook his head once and then seemed to stand up straighter, throwing his shoulders back. She recognized the resolution on his face.

"Okay, it's too late to do anything about it tonight," he said, not really talking to her at all. "First thing tomorrow, I'll call a few of my contacts and see if we can't get a hearing lined up for the afternoon, get him out of there as fast as possible. He's been there since yesterday?"

He didn't wait for Kirsten to answer.

* * *

Sandy left his wife standing alone and miserable in the kitchen. He was furious at his family: at Seth for doing something so incredibly stupid, at Ryan for yet again refusing to take care of himself, and at Kirsten for letting all this happen in the first place. Maybe that wasn't quite fair, but Sandy couldn't help but presume that if he'd been around this weekend none of this would have happened. Ryan wouldn't be back in juvie, anyway. He knew that. He was certain of it.

Sandy's steps were heavy on the stairs up to the second floor. He'd been exhausted after the drive from Santa Barbara and a long weekend of drinking and not much sleep, but he was wired now, his head spinning as he thought about the next day. He made a mental list of all the people he would need to call first thing in the morning. He had a lot of work ahead of him if he was going to get Ryan out of juvie as fast as possible—ideally by the end of the day.

Seth was sitting at his computer when Sandy stepped into his bedroom without even a knock to announce himself.

"Turn that computer off and get over here," Sandy said.

"Dad-"

"Do it."

Seth took a few seconds to finish typing then shut off his computer and slowly stood. Sandy pointed at the bed.

"Sit down." Seth did as he was told and Sandy paced back and forth, trying to collect his thoughts. "I don't know where to start with you. Were you even thinking at all?"

"I know, I'm a moron, Dad. It was stupid and I am so sorry."

"Damn right it was stupid. After everything this family's been through in the past few months, I expected a lot more from you, Seth. You let me down, and you let your mom down."

"I know," Seth whispered.

"So why'd you do it?" he asked.

Seth shrugged and ducked his head, studying his hands in his lap.

"We were bored, or I was bored, and we thought it'd be fun to just go hang out somewhere. It was totally stupid. I never thought this would happen."

Sandy sighed and sat down next to Seth. He'd been having such a great weekend until he got home. He'd been looking forward to a late dinner with Kirsten and checking in with the boys. Both of them.

"What exactly happened Friday night?" he asked.

Seth glanced at him once then looked back down, plucking at a hole in his T-shirt. Sandy was a little surprised Kirsten, or Rosa, hadn't thrown out the shirt by now.

"We got some guy to buy us beer, and then we went down to the Cove, where they're building those new mansions Grandpa's always complaining about," Seth said. "We went inside one of the homes, and we were just hanging out, not, like, starting fires or tagging the walls or anything like that, when these cops showed up. So we ran, and they caught us."

"You ran from the police?" Sandy shook his head slowly. "Seth, you know that's just dumb."

Seth sighed and nodded before starting again. "When they caught up to us, one of the cops tried to grab me, and he pushed me up against a wall and I think maybe Ryan thought he'd hurt me or something, because he sort of shoved the cop away."

Sandy ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. That explained the assault. Both Seth and Ryan had made just about the worst possible decisions over and over again that night. Sandy figured he was better off not dwelling on what that said about him as a parent. Better to focus on the present and what he could do now to set things straight.

"You're not a kid anymore, Seth," he said. "You're growing up and you've got to start taking responsibility for your actions. You can't afford to make these kinds of bad choices and then deal with the consequences later. You have to think first."

Seth nodded again but kept his eyes focused on his lap. Sandy knew the kid was feeling awful—guilty and scared and embarrassed by what he'd done. That was good, and Sandy would let him agonize over it all for a while. He patted Seth on the knee and stood.

"What about Ryan?" Seth asked.

"We'll figure that out tomorrow," Sandy said. He wanted to reassure Seth, tell him that they'd bring Ryan home soon, but he didn't want to make any promises. And Sandy was scared, and he didn't want Seth catching onto that.

"It was my fault," Seth said. "Ryan was just protecting me. That's why he pushed that cop."

"I get that, Seth, but Ryan still shouldn't have done it. He gets in trouble because he makes impulsive decisions. Whether or not his heart was in the right place doesn't really matter in this case."

"You're starting to sound like Mom now," Seth grumbled, his tone no longer contrite, just bitter.

"Watch it, Seth."

"I'm sorry, but Dad, you should have seen her there, at the police station. I've never seen her like that before," Seth said. "I mean, she was pissed, I've seen that. But she didn't try to help Ryan at all. When the cops told us Ryan was going back to juvie, she didn't argue with them. And when she went to talk to him, I don't know, I couldn't tell what she was saying, but she wouldn't even look at him or touch him. It was like she just let him go, like she thought he deserved it."

Sandy felt sick at Seth's analysis of what had happened that night, but he wasn't about to take sides on this one.

"Give your mom a break," he said. "You put her in a horrible position. It's every parent's nightmare to have to get a kid out of jail, and it's not like she has much experience with this kind of thing."

"She got him out of juvie before."

"Let it go, Seth," Sandy said.

Seth shook his head, clearly not yet ready to let Kirsten off the hook. Sandy didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to agree with Seth, not out loud.

"I'm assuming your mom grounded you for the foreseeable future."

Seth nodded.

"Good. Then unless you're doing homework, stay off that computer."

Sandy said goodnight and left, closing the door slowly behind him. He'd been home maybe 30 minutes, and it felt like his family was in shambles. He didn't know how to begin putting it back together.

* * *

By Monday morning, Ryan was exhausted. He had hardly slept at all during the last two nights. The halls never really quieted—they echoed, instead, with the sounds of the guards' footsteps, the slamming of metal gates, the other kids shouting and banging on the walls. Ryan's comfortable bed in the pool house had spoiled him rotten; the bed in his cell was just a thin foam pad on a metal shelf. Even worse, as the new kid in the cell, he automatically got the top bunk, and he was terrified of falling off and cracking his skull on the concrete floor. When he woke in the morning—assuming he'd gotten to sleep at all—his muscles were sore and stiff from the effort of holding still.

School started on Monday. His unit, the intake unit, was the first to attend the required four hours of classes per day, which meant they started at seven in the morning, right after breakfast. The work was ridiculously easy, and Ryan spent the morning fidgeting with a combination of boredom and nerves. He wondered what school he'd attend once he got out, and where. Even if the Cohens took him back, he held out little hope that Dr. Kim would actually accept him back at the Harbor School. With these new blots on his record, she'd have every right to expel him. She'd probably jump at the chance, because in spite of his straight A's and his (until now) perfect attendance record, she had never really warmed to him.

Ryan was so engrossed in worrying about Dr. Kim that he didn't even notice he was chewing on his pencil until he got yelled at by one of the guards. The guard pointed out that everyone had to share the same pencils, and nobody wanted to use one that was full of some guy's teeth marks. Also, it was a disgusting habit. The other boys all turned to stare at him, and there were quite a few quiet snickers. Ryan slumped down in his chair, silently cursing the guard for blowing his cover. Being noticed was dangerous. Although, come to think of it, the guard had a point. He'd probably gotten hepatitis from chewing on the pencil.

After school there was lunch, and then time for exercise. A couple of guards steered his group down a dim hallway that led outdoors. Even though he knew he'd only be running in circles in a small cement yard surrounded by a chain link fence, Ryan could hardly contain his impatience once they cracked open the door at the end of the hall and he got his first glimpse of sunlight and sky. He kept his hands behind his back and stood in line with the rest of the boys until he heard the shrill report of the whistle and he was free to run. The sun was warm on his back and the air smelled clean, without the stale scent of sweat and cigarettes and bologna that hovered in the air inside. His head was down and his feet pounded on the concrete and finally his body belonged just to him again. He inched ahead of the group, and felt a wave of pleasure at being in the lead. He had never been much of a runner, but then he'd never in his life had so much to run from.

He didn't even register the guard shouting his name until he was grabbed by the elbow and jerked out of line. He leaned against the fence, panting, while he got scolded again.

"Kids who run like you, they're usually the ones who try to run for real," the guard said. "Stay with the crowd. I'll be watching you."

"There's nowhere to run," Ryan protested, gesturing to the fence, at the razor wire looping at the top. His side ached from the running, and he pressed a hand against his ribs.

"You don't want to be talking back," the guard warned him. He grabbed Ryan's shoulder and spun him around, shoving him toward the door. "Inside."

Which meant he'd lost half his exercise time, and gotten noticed again. So Ryan was already in a foul mood when, at the beginning of free time in the rec room, the guard from the schoolroom called his name and told him that he was going out for a while. He didn't say where, but Ryan sighed. It was probably a meeting with his probation officer, and he didn't want to deal with that. He was so tired, and he felt grimy. The boys in his unit had exercise in the early afternoon and showers in the late evening, a combination which no doubt contributed to the overall rank smell. He wanted to stay in the rec room and stare at the TV or read, losing himself in some mindless activity. But it wasn't as though he had a choice. So he just locked his hands behind his back and followed the guard down the hall.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Ryan had an itch he couldn't scratch. The more he thought about it, the more it irritated him: first it was just a light tickling at his temple, but then it spread to the tip of his nose, his left eyebrow, his cheekbone. There was nothing he could do about it. His hands were cuffed in front of him and attached to a leather band around his waist, and he could not raise them to the level of his face. The way the guards had been treating him he was surprised they hadn't gone for the leg shackles, too, though he was grateful they hadn't. He looked enough like a dangerous criminal already. Standard procedure, the guard had said when he strapped the belt around Ryan's waist. But his quick, careful movements suggested otherwise, and Ryan felt ashamed, even though he was almost certain it was nothing personal.

There were three other guys in the back of the van with Ryan, all, like him, on their way to hearings. Except for one kid, who continuously swore under his breath and strained against his seatbelt, all were silent and seemed cowed by the experience. Ryan was nervous too, but right now he was almost more concerned with the itch than he was with his future. Also, he was thirsty: desperately, chokingly thirsty, his mouth sticky and his throat dry. He didn't know when he had been so miserable.

When the van stopped at the courthouse and the back doors were opened, the first thing Ryan saw was Sandy, standing on the sidewalk. Sandy had a stern expression on his face that Ryan had only seen a few times before, and hardly ever directed at him. In spite of Sandy's anger, in spite of the fact that Ryan had ruined everything, he was still so glad to see Sandy that he went weak in the knees and had trouble standing up. When the guard nudged him to the back of the van, Sandy stepped forward.

"I'm Mr. Atwood's attorney," he said to the guard, who shrugged and moved aside, allowing Sandy to take Ryan's elbow and help him down from the van. And somehow it really hurt, hearing "Mr. Atwood" again after all these months of being treated like a member of the family. He knew he might never go back to the Cohens', and maybe it was time to start letting go. But it still hurt.

One of the guards escorted Sandy and Ryan to a small room, furnished only with a small wooden table and a few chairs. The guard led Ryan to one of the chairs and left the room. A water cooler stood in the corner, and Ryan couldn't keep from staring at it for a few seconds before he thought better of it and looked at the floor. But Sandy had already noticed.

"Thirsty?" he said.

Ryan licked his lips. "Uh, yeah – no. It's okay."

Sandy crossed the room, filling one of the cone-shaped paper cups. Ryan swallowed hard as the water bubbled in the tank. Sandy brought the water to him.

"Can you, uh . . .?" Ryan looked down at his cuffed hands and wiggled his fingers to indicate the problem.

"No," Sandy said. "You have to wear them for now. It's just policy. But here."

He held the cup to Ryan's mouth and tipped it carefully so Ryan could drink. Though he felt ridiculous, like a little kid, he was too grateful for the water to even care. In three big gulps the water was gone. Ryan made the mistake of glancing up at Sandy as he took the last swallow, and the combination of anger and sorrow on Sandy's face made him choke. He gasped and bent forward to cough. There was something horrible and helpless about having a coughing fit with his hands restrained. He felt Sandy's hand on his back, not whacking or patting it but simply resting there, a point of solid warmth that he didn't deserve.

"I'm sorry," Ryan said when he could speak.

Sandy was quiet for a long time, and although Ryan didn't lift his head he could hear Sandy moving to the other side of the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"I'm very angry with you, Ryan," Sandy said, though his voice sounded more defeated than angry. "That was a stupid thing you did."

"I know," Ryan whispered.

"I expect you to make better choices. Especially when Seth is involved."

Ryan looked up quickly. Sandy's eyebrows were drawn so low they threatened to overpower his eyes altogether.

"It's bad enough that you got yourself in trouble," Sandy said. "But to drag Seth into it–"

"He dragged _me_ into it," Ryan said, surprising himself. He had to bite his lower lip to keep from saying more, because it wasn't going to help him any to blame Seth.

"Ryan, this isn't like you," Sandy said. He leaned forward. "You've always taken responsibility for your actions."

"For my actions, yes," Ryan spat. He was suddenly furious. "But not Seth's. We were in it together. And I can't be his keeper. I mean – not that it matters now."

Ryan glanced up to see Sandy staring at him thoughtfully.

"You should know that Seth feels terrible about what happened. I think he would trade places with you if he could."

Ryan had a sudden, terrifying vision of Seth in juvie, saying the wrong thing to the wrong guy and getting slammed face-first into the concrete floor. He wouldn't last the night there.

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry. It was my fault he got arrested. I was the one who pushed the cop."

Sandy sighed and Ryan stared at the scratched linoleum, blinking to ward off the tears that were threatening just behind his eyes. He hadn't cried for years, not really, but in the past few days he had come closer than he liked.

"You're both responsible for what happened," Sandy said. "But there's no use dwelling on that now. We need to focus on your future. You know I'm going to do everything I can to bring you home."

"Does Kirsten know that?" Ryan didn't raise his eyes from the floor. The bitterness in his own voice surprised him. He didn't believe Sandy. He didn't dare to hope that he'd be so lucky again.

Sandy seemed to hesitate. "We've discussed it, yes."

"And she _wants _me back?"

"It's going to take some time, for all of us," Sandy said. "New rules. New adjustments. We can handle it. You're part of the family now. That's not going to change."

"Yeah, next Chrismukkah you guys can bring me a wreath to hang in my cell," Ryan said. He sneaked a glance at Sandy, who looked appalled, but he couldn't stop. "Or, hey, Kirsten can bake me a pie with a file in it."

"Ryan, stop it," Sandy said, glaring. "You need to calm down, right now. If you show this attitude to the judge today, he's going to come down harder on you, and we don't want that."

Ryan drew in an angry breath, and found he had nothing more to say. He couldn't look at Sandy, so he stared at his own hands, pulling them apart as far as he could even though the metal cuffs hurt his wrists. The pain was a welcome distraction. He wanted to be free so badly it was like an itch under his skin. He wanted to hit something, or to run until he couldn't breathe and he wouldn't have to think anymore about everything that had gone wrong, and all the ways he was to blame.

"Ryan, look at me."

"No," Ryan whispered. If he looked at Sandy he might fall apart, and he couldn't afford that. What he needed was control, or he would never make it through the afternoon.

"Then listen to me," Sandy said, and Ryan held still and waited. "I've asked my friend Ian Roper to represent you. He's very good at what he does. I'll be present at your detention hearing, but as your guardian, not your attorney. Kirsten will be here, too."

Ryan nodded, but his stomach started jumping. He didn't want to face Kirsten.

"Now, there's no reason you should have to go back to juvie today," Sandy said. "The detention center is overcrowded as it is, and your offenses – I'm not saying they're not a big deal, but there are worse crimes, and I doubt they'll hold you when there are rapists and violent offenders coming in every day."

Ryan looked at Sandy. He had so many questions, but to ask them would give away what he was hoping, and he couldn't risk that. He bit his lip, but Sandy seemed to understand and nodded.

"There's a good chance they'll release you to my custody today, pending your adjudication hearing," Sandy said. "Nothing is definite, but that's the norm in cases like this. If you're detained in the first place, that is. This isn't going away, Ryan, but I hope to bring you home, at least."

Ryan let out the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding.

"Mr. Roper is going to come in now, to go over some specifics about your hearing with you. Judge Alexander agreed to fit you in at the end of the day, so you might be waiting for a while."

"Okay," Ryan said. He could wait; it was all he had done for the past few days. He took a deep breath and settled back in his seat. This all might be over soon.

* * *

It was nearly five o' clock when Ryan's hearing got underway. By that time he was so exhausted that he just wanted to lay his head on the ugly oak table and sleep. He had spent the last couple of hours alone in a holding cell, staring at a cinderblock wall and pulling the sleeves of his jumpsuit over his hands to keep warm. Compared to the cell, the tiny courtroom he was in now was practically sultry. He sat on a hard wooden bench between Sandy and Mr. Roper, struggling to keep his eyes open. He forced himself to pay attention when the judge start the proceedings by informing him of his rights, if only so he could answer on cue that he understood them. Mr. Roper had told him that, unless the judge asked him any questions, it would be the only time he would be expected to speak.

The district attorney was the first to speak. He talked about the police report from Friday night. He sounded bored, as though the whole affair was a waste of his time, which it probably was. Ryan watched Kirsten out of the corner of his eye. She had already been sitting down when he was brought in, separated from him by Sandy, and she hadn't said a word to him. When the district attorney talked about them climbing the fence, she shook her head just slightly. When he mentioned the results of the breathalyzer test, she looked down at her lap. When he read the charge of assault against an officer, she glanced over at Ryan and their eyes met very briefly before he looked down at the table, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. The probation officer started talking about Ryan's schoolwork and his criminal history, and Ryan quit listening. He couldn't focus, and didn't even want to. He was tired of hearing it, his whole life, past and present, reduced to a stack of papers that slid neatly into a manila folder. The real story wasn't in those papers. It wasn't even between the lines. None of the people deciding his future were ever going to know his real story, who he loved and who he'd left behind, and what he wanted for his future. Mr. Roper got up to speak, and Ryan couldn't even force himself to listen to that. He clenched his fists in his lap and stared down at them.

"Are you awake, Mr. Atwood?" the judge said, and Ryan's head snapped up.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"I'm not sure you realize the seriousness of your situation," the judge said. "You've been arrested for the third time in six months. We're meeting here—at the end of a very long day, I might add—to make decisions about your future, and you appear to be dozing in my courtroom."

Ryan shook his head, very slightly. He was afraid to move or speak, afraid to look away from the judge.

"At the end of the day, I don't care about your grades or your soccer team," the judge said. "You've been given every opportunity and you're still screwing up. You're still demonstrating a lack of respect for authority."

"I'm sorry," Ryan said. "I'm trying, I just–"

He stopped talking when Mr. Roper squeezed his forearm in warning.

"I'm not sure you won't benefit from a more structured environment," the judge said. He frowned at Ryan. "Perhaps a group home or a boot camp would be a more appropriate long-term placement for you."

Kirsten looked up sharply at that. Sandy leaned forward.

"Your Honor, as Ryan's legal guardian, I'd like the opportunity to comment."

"Briefly, Mr. Cohen," the judge said. He took off his glasses and set them aside.

"This is a good kid," Sandy said, and Ryan felt a chill run through him, because Sandy sounded almost desperate. "He's had a lot to overcome, but he's been with us six months and he's become a member of our family. For every bad decision he's made, he has made a hundred good ones."

"Be that as it may–"

"Your Honor, Ryan is not a threat to anyone," Sandy interrupted, and the judge's eyebrows shot up. "He doesn't pose a flight risk. If you're thinking of holding him–"

"Mr. Cohen," the judge said. "It's my turn. I see police reports and school records that indicate a history of violence. I see car theft and trespassing. What I see, Mr. Cohen, is a blatant disregard for authority and personal property. There's a pattern here, and I don't see it changing."

The judge stood up, holding out a hand to silence Sandy, who was also getting to his feet. Ryan waited, holding as still as possible. He wasn't even breathing.

"I'm ordering continued detention," the judge said. "We'll reconvene next week to discuss the options for Mr. Atwood." He left the chambers, already beginning to slip off his robe before he reached the door. Mr. Roper stood up, so Ryan did, too. He looked over at Sandy, who shook his head.

"This shouldn't have happened," Sandy said.

"You said I wouldn't have to go back," Ryan said. He tried to keep his voice quiet, tried to keep the accusations out of it, but when Sandy sighed heavily he knew he had failed.

"I said I'd do everything I could," Sandy said. "I'll keep doing that."

He put his hand on Ryan's shoulder and squeezed.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Ryan looked down at the table, but then he nodded. He couldn't blame Sandy for anything that was happening to him. He looked at Kirsten, who had been talking quietly with Mr. Roper. She took a quick breath and looked as though she might speak, but the guard from juvie came up and took Ryan by the arm.

"Time to head out," he said.

"Hang on," Sandy said. He kept his hand on Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan was caught between the two men. He shifted his shoulders uneasily.

"I got three other kids waiting in the van–" the guard began.

"You give us a minute," Sandy said sharply, and the guard stepped back. Sandy leaned forward, his head so close that Ryan had to fight the urge to flinch back.

"You keep your nose clean, do you hear me?" Sandy said. "No fights. I don't care what anyone says to you. I don't care what's happening. You need to stay out of trouble."

Ryan nodded.

"No, you promise me," Sandy said. He moved his hand from Ryan's shoulder to cup the back of his head briefly. "You'll do whatever you have to do to stay safe."

"I promise," Ryan said. He glanced at Sandy for a second. It was all the eye contact he could stand.

"All right," Sandy said, and finally he let go and nodded to the guard. "You can take him now. Thanks for your patience."

The guard gripped Ryan's arm again. As he was led out of the room, Ryan looked back once to see Kirsten watching him. Her arms were folded and she looked tired. But before Ryan could even begin to decipher her expression, the guard tugged him forward and closed the door between them.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Lights-out wasn't for another hour or so, but Ryan's new roommate was already asleep when he got back to the cell. He was a small, silent kid named Silva—Ryan didn't even know his first name—who'd been picked up for dealing crack near an elementary school. He was probably going to be deported. In the meantime, Ryan got along fine with him, mostly because neither one of them really said much. Silva spent a lot of time curled up on his bunk, facing the wall. He had an astonishing ability to remain motionless for hours at a time. You had to look closely to even catch him blinking. Ryan would have liked to watch him—there was something fascinating about such utter stillness—but in juvie staring was an open invitation to fight or fuck. When Ryan caught someone staring at him in the cafeteria or the showers he just dropped his eyes. He wanted to be like Silva and master the art of invisibility, but it wasn't likely. He knew he stood out because of his light skin and eyes. He knew there were people who wanted to fight him or to touch him because of the way he looked. Sometimes he felt hands brushing his shoulders or his ass when he stood in line with the others, even though they were all supposed to keep their hands behind their backs when they moved around the unit. People hissed comments too; whispered and laughed and made threats. There wasn't anything he could do about that, except to stay quiet.

When the lights flickered out at nine o' clock, Ryan was relieved. He was exhausted, but it was too hard to sleep with the overhead light buzzing just a few feet over his head. He closed his book, a yellowed copy of _Beautiful Joe_ that he'd found in the rec room. If he was going to be locked up for a while, he thought, he'd have to get Seth to send some new reading material. He set the book on the metal shelf next to his bunk and lay back on the thin pillow, closing his eyes. Silva snored quietly in the bunk below him, a sound Ryan found oddly comforting. The room was warm and he felt drowsy and almost relaxed. He turned on his side, his face to the wall. Just before he drifted off he thought how strange it was that he was getting used to this life, how he could get used to anything, really.

* * *

Sandy was only vaguely aware of the water splashing into the sink in front of him as he stared out over the dark ocean. Usually Ryan did the dishes in their house. Which was good, because Sandy hated doing dishes. He didn't have the patience for it and almost always ended up not rinsing well enough and leaving little bits of food that stuck to the plates like cement after a run through the dishwasher.

Dinner had been tense and quiet, and Sandy found it remarkable that for a kid who spoke so little, Ryan could have such a profound impact on the conversation, or lack thereof, in the house. With Ryan gone, Seth was moping and not talking much to anyone. Sandy and Kirsten weren't exactly getting along either. Sandy felt a little guilty about that, but he was still more angry than guilty, and somehow that just made him feel worse.

So he'd volunteered to do the dishes. Kirsten and Ryan seemed to actually like washing dishes. It was something they had in common. He might have to point that out to Kirsten sometime.

The disappointment from that afternoon's court hearing had been profound, worse than any courtroom loss Sandy could remember, worse even than the time he'd let a 13-year-old get deported to Mexico for attacking his abusive stepfather with a fork. Sandy was usually so careful to rationalize his expectations, but he hadn't been rational when it came to Ryan since the day they'd met. He'd never taken a kid home, and he'd never been so pained to let a kid go. He'd been so certain that Ryan would be at home, washing the dishes, tonight.

"Damn," Sandy muttered when water sloshed over the edge of the sink, soaking the front of his shirt. He turned off the faucet and pulled his shirt away from his body. Dishes definitely weren't his thing.

"Dad?"

Sandy sighed and looked out at his backyard. His very dark backyard.

"What is it, Seth?"

When Seth didn't answer right away, Sandy wiped his hands on a towel and turned around to face him. Seth stood on the other side of the counter, head bowed, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. Seth had been furious when Sandy had explained what had happened at Ryan's hearing. He'd stormed about the injustice of it, how unfair it was that Ryan was being so severely punished for a mistake they'd both made. He'd blamed the police and the judge and his parents—mostly his parents—but Sandy knew Seth was really just blaming himself, and so he'd let him fume.

"I, um, wanted to visit Ryan. Tomorrow."

Sandy sighed. Kirsten was going to love this.

"You know they have set visiting hours," Sandy said, stalling. "We'll have to call and-"

"I already called," Seth said. "This afternoon. We could go tomorrow at 2. Marissa wants to go too, and her dad can take us, so…"

"Did you ask your mom?"

Seth nodded slowly. "She said she'd talk to you."

"And you wanted to beat her to it."

"Dad-"

"You can go, Seth," Sandy said. "I'll write you a note so you can get out of school."

Seth looked up, surprised, and let a small smile flash.

"Thanks." Seth took a deep breath, and Sandy watched him. "I'm sorry, about earlier. What I said. I know you did everything you could for Ryan."

Sandy nodded and crossed the kitchen to Seth, reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"Actually, I'm sorry about pretty much everything," Seth said quietly.

"I know you are."

"How long will it take? I mean, before you can get him out of there?"

This was the question Sandy didn't want to answer, even to himself. "I don't know," he said. "It's complicated, Seth. I hope it's just a few more days. But I can't make any promises."

"Okay."

Seth left the kitchen and Sandy stood alone for a moment, feeling inept at pretty much everything that mattered—being a father, a husband and a lawyer. He stared out at the backyard again. The pool looked like a black pit without the lights from the pool house bouncing off the surface. Sandy glanced over at the dirty dishes still piled in the sink, then walked toward the back door. The dishes would wait.

The Cohens weren't big on knocking. Sandy had walked in on Ryan unannounced probably too many times, but for some reason he felt suddenly uncomfortable entering the pool house without Ryan's permission. He paused before opening the side door. All of the curtains were open, but Sandy could only make out shadows and the dim outlines of furniture. He walked inside and was surprised at how cold it felt. He wondered if Ryan used the heater when it got this cold, and if he had enough blankets. He'd have to remember to ask when Ryan came home.

Sandy crossed the room quickly and turned on the lamp next to Ryan's bed. He really didn't want to snoop, but Sandy couldn't help but take a long look around and wonder if some of Ryan's secrets weren't hidden in this room. Notes from Marissa, perhaps, or maybe letters he'd written, but never sent, to his mother or brother. Old family photos, tucked in textbooks. Journals. Drugs. Sandy's mind sorted through all of the possibilities, wondering at some, dismissing others. Not drugs. That wasn't Ryan's style. Not journals, either. Maybe photos.

He wasn't going to snoop, though, because Ryan would be coming home and he'd know, somehow, if Sandy had gone looking through his stuff, and that would be an unforgivable invasion.

Sandy turned instead to face a small bookcase under the hooks where Ryan hung his jackets. One of the jackets was missing. The one Ryan had been wearing when he was arrested. Sandy crouched down in front of the bookcase and ran his fingers over the spines, trying to decide which ones he wanted.

"What are you doing?"

Sandy glanced to his right, where Kirsten stood in the doorway. Her arms were wrapped around her body and she pulled the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands.

"I thought Seth could take some books to Ryan tomorrow. There's not a lot to do in there. The kids spend most of the time stuck in their rooms."

Kirsten frowned and looked away, apparently taking his comment as a dig at her. Sandy honestly wasn't sure if he'd meant it that way.

"I don't know if I want Seth visiting him," she said.

Sandy bowed his head then slowly stood up and faced her.

"Jimmy will be with Seth and Marissa the whole time. They'll be safe."

"Those are dangerous kids in there, Sandy. I've seen what they're capable of. I don't want Seth around them."

"And what about Ryan? He's locked up with those kids, Kirsten. You're okay with that?"

"No, of course not," she said. The anger was returning, making her voice hard.

Sandy knew she wanted him to just let this go, to let her go. But he couldn't.

"You could have said something for him in court today. Told the judge he was a good kid."

"You had that covered," she said. "Anyway, that judge wasn't going to listen to us. He'd already made up his mind."

"Just like the Newport cops had made up their mind to send Ryan back to juvie? You didn't even try, Kirsten."

"I'm not having this conversation again," she said

"Okay. Fine. Never mind the judge, or the cops. What about Ryan? You didn't say a word to him today."

"I didn't get the chance," she said.

"You can't keep making excuses, hon. He needs us. We're all he's got."

"I just don't know what I can do for him."

He sighed, trying not to sound like he was lecturing her. "When we took Ryan into our home, we took on certain responsibilities-"

"Maybe we made a mistake."

Kirsten's words were soft and plaintive, but unmistakable. Sandy felt weak, like she'd punched him hard in the stomach, and he wanted to sit down. And just as quickly the weakness was replaced by anger.

"You don't mean that," he said. Kirsten looked away for a moment, and he hoped she might be ashamed, even take back her words, but he suspected that wasn't the case. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Maybe we're not enough for him," she said. "What if he needs more than we can give him?"

"He's just a kid. All he needs is a family," Sandy said, straining to keep his voice even. "You once told me that you'd do anything for your family. I know you. I know you'd risk everything for Seth, or me, to keep us safe."

Kirsten pursed her lips and pulled her arms even closer to her body, so he could see her shoulders tensing.

"I did everything I could for Ryan."

"I wish I believed that," Sandy said.

"I wish you did too."

"I'm trying, but you left him there, Kirsten. You could have helped him that night, at the police station, and you chose to leave instead. You abandoned him."

"I _what_?" Kirsten said. She stared at him. "You mean like his mother abandoned him? Is that what you're saying?"

"You could have tried," he said, raising his voice to match hers.

"Sandy, I've been trying my hardest with this kid for six months now. And what happens? He gets himself and our son arrested. He hit a police officer."

"He didn't hit that cop," Sandy said.

"He was charged with assault."

"He was protecting Seth."

"Is that what he was doing when he got Seth arrested?" Kirsten demanded.

"You know it didn't happen that way. You know Ryan can't take all the blame for what happened." Sandy paused and watched her carefully. "Why'd you turn your back on him? Why won't you help him?"

"I'm not his mother," she said, her voice cracking a little. "I don't know how to help him." She brought her fist to her mouth and closed her eyes.

Sandy took a step toward her, reaching for her, but Kirsten spun around and walked out of the pool house. He heard the door to the main house slam shut. Sandy closed his eyes for a moment, let out a long breath. He couldn't figure out his wife, or how this situation had spiraled so far out of control. He wasn't sure how he was going to get Ryan out of juvenile hall. And worse than that, even if he managed to free Ryan, Sandy wasn't sure what kind of home he'd be returning to.

Sandy took less than a minute to pick out half a dozen books for Ryan, then turned off the light and gently closed the pool house door behind him.

* * *

When the door to Ryan's cell opened suddenly, Ryan sat up straight, his heart banging in his chest, and gripped his blanket with both hands. He heard rustling beneath him as Silva sat up, too. He wasn't sure if they'd been sleeping for minutes or hours.

"Roommate," the guard said.

Ryan squinted in the light that poured in from the hall. He wondered what time it was. It drove him crazy, not having a watch.

"We have two in here already," he said, his voice coming out raspy.

"Yeah, well, you're getting a third. Atwood, Silva, meet Rivera."

The guard moved aside so the new kid could enter the room. He was dragging a thin mattress pad like the one on Ryan's bed, and had a blanket and pillow tucked under his arm. He dumped the bedding on the floor and stood upright. He was a big kid with a shaved head, and suddenly Ryan recognized him from the schoolroom that morning. He had laughed openly when Ryan got yelled at for chewing on the pencil.

"He's not new," he said.

"We're rearranging," the guard said. "Not that it's any of your business, Atwood."

He turned to Rivera.

"Make up the bed and get to sleep," he said. "If we have any trouble from you, you're going straight to isolation, all right?"

Rivera nodded, his jaw set sullenly. The guard stood in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, until Rivera finished laying the mattress on the floor and spreading the blanket over it. The new bed took up most of the floor space.

"Sleep tight, boys," he said, and closed the door, plunging the cell into darkness again. Ryan lay down and curled toward the wall again, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but his heart hadn't quite calmed down and he was very aware of Rivera, still standing in the middle of the room and breathing heavily. He heard shuffling sounds as Rivera walked over the mattress on the floor.

Ryan jumped when a hand came down on his ankle, and rolled over to find Rivera standing right next to his bunk. In the dim light, he could see the kid's face, which was scarily blank.

"Move it," he said, without releasing his grip on Ryan's ankle. "I want the top."

"I was here first," Ryan whispered. They weren't supposed to talk after lights-out. He sat up and tried to jerk his leg free, but Rivera's grip just got tighter. He smiled.

"Atwood," he said, whispering now, drawing out Ryan's name like a threat. "You're the kid who likes to put things in his mouth, huh?"

Ryan drew in a breath, trying not to panic.

"Okay," he whispered. "Let go and I'll get down."

He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but as soon as he was off balance Rivera grabbed his arm, too, and rolled him completely off the bed. The top bunk was only about five feet off the ground, but in the half-second before Ryan landed on his back at Rivera's feet he experienced the pure terror of falling that he recognized from his worst nightmares. The mattress on the floor cushioned his fall and he was more stunned than hurt. He didn't have much time to feel relief at his lack of injuries before Rivera was crouched over him. Ryan's chest rose and fell rapidly, and he tried to control his breathing, to hide his fear.

Before Rivera had the chance to say or do anything, Silva got out of bed and grabbed Rivera's shoulder. He said something in Spanish to Rivera that Ryan didn't catch; his voice was too fast and too low. Rivera pulled his shoulder free and glared at Silva, but then they all heard the sound of gates slamming in the hall and the guard's footsteps coming closer. Rivera climbed up to the top bunk. Ryan lay still, his eyes wide open in the darkness. It was cold on the floor, but he was too afraid to get up long enough to ease the blanket out from under him. He closed his hands into fists at his sides and stared up at the dark ceiling.

* * *

The parking lot at the Newport Group offices was empty when Kirsten pulled into her spot before 7 a.m. Tuesday. Sandy had still been asleep by the time she'd dressed, and she'd left a note for him and Seth on the kitchen table, explaining that she had a lot of work to catch up on. It wasn't a lie. She hadn't gotten much done over the weekend, and she'd spent most of Monday afternoon in court. But neither Sandy nor Seth would be fooled. They'd both know she was avoiding them.

As she crossed the parking lot to the front doors, Kirsten wished for the simple pleasure of someone to talk to. A close friend. Sandy usually filled that role for her, and she for him. They were each other's confidants. They trusted each other, and, the occasional well-kept secret aside, they shared everything. That just made it all the more difficult when they weren't getting along.

For all of her well-known connections to Newport's high society scene, Kirsten considered herself something of an oxymoron: a reclusive socialite. She enjoyed the parties and the gala fund-raisers and the power that came from being so well placed in the community, but she had few close friends. She certainly had no one she could turn to now. She didn't trust Julie or Taryn or any of the other Newpsies. She couldn't talk to Jimmy about her marital problems.

Kirsten surrounded herself with intimates, people she was willing to trust and allow past her defenses. People she loved unconditionally. She demanded a lot from the people she loved, and in return she gave them her total devotion. Or so she'd thought. It had been four days since Ryan's arrest, and Kirsten still wasn't sure what had happened. Why she'd let him go.

Kirsten fumbled in her purse for the key that would unlock the front door of the Newport Group offices. It wasn't often that she got in before anyone else. Inside, the front lobby was cool and smelled faintly of cleaning detergent. Kirsten hustled through the lobby and down a long hallway to her office, her heels tapping on the floor, echoing off the walls.

She paused at the threshold to her office, feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of work. She wasn't sure where to start, and her thoughts kept buzzing back to Sandy, and the fight they'd had the night before, and to Seth, who still wouldn't speak to her. And to Ryan. Kirsten took a deep breath and headed for her desk. She'd begin with the contractor she needed to hire.

She was on her tenth resume when the phone rang, and Kirsten jumped in her chair. She glanced at the caller ID, and saw that it was Sandy. She let the phone continue ringing, and then waited a few minutes for the red voicemail light to come on. It never did, but her cell phone rang a few seconds later. She let that one go too.

Kirsten was grateful that Sandy was calling, but she couldn't talk to him now because she couldn't tell him what he needed to hear. She knew he felt betrayed by her, for Ryan's sake. She couldn't blame him either. But she also couldn't explain what had happened. In a way, Ryan had betrayed her trust by getting himself and Seth into trouble, but she knew there was more to it than that.

She reached for the phone and considered calling Ryan, but she wasn't sure if he was allowed to receive calls. He hadn't called them since he'd been taken away. And even if she did talk to him, she had no idea what she would say. If she couldn't explain to herself, or her husband, what had happened, how could she explain it to Ryan? And would he even listen? So she didn't pick up the phone, and for the same reasons, she'd rejected the idea of visiting Ryan with Seth this afternoon. It would be her only chance to see Ryan for a while—visiting hours were only once a week, for a few hours on Tuesdays—but she knew she couldn't face him just yet.

When Kirsten had seen Ryan in the courtroom the day before, he'd suddenly looked so young and frightened to her. He'd been exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair flat and greasy. He'd barely been able to even look up from the table. Once when he'd briefly caught her eye, she'd been struck by the memory of him standing in front of the pool house the day his mom had walked out on him.

She sometimes forgot he was still just a child. Ryan made it easy to forget. He could be so mature, and there was a stillness, a calmness, to him that most adults never managed to attain. Certainly he wasn't anything like Seth, all teenaged energy and hormones.

But it wasn't fair to expect him to be more responsible than other kids his age, even if he expected more from himself. Kirsten knew that. She also knew she'd let him down, and not just the night he was arrested. Ryan had been living in her home for six months, and in a matter of hours the bond between them had been badly damaged, if not severed altogether. What did that say about the bond that was there in the first place? What kind of a parent had she been to this kid if he was willing to risk everything—his home, his new family, his freedom—for one night of drinking?

The current tension in her home was made worse by the fact that Kirsten couldn't see how it would be resolved. Either Ryan stayed locked up or he returned to her home. Both options frightened her. She was terrified for Ryan in juvie, and every night since he and Seth had been arrested she'd suffered disturbing dreams—mostly just sounds and images, quick flashes of fights and yelled threats—that woke her up over and over again. The nightmares left her tense throughout the day, and she didn't want to imagine how awful the real thing was for Ryan.

But she wasn't sure her home was the right place for him now. She wasn't sure what she could do for him anymore. She'd failed him once. What if she failed him again?

"Kiki, you're here early."

"Dad."

Kirsten looked up from her desk at her father, who didn't wait for an invitation to sit down across from her. He'd been out Monday morning, and she hadn't seen him in several days.

"Julie told me last night that my grandson was arrested," her father announced. "Something about smoking weed and stealing a car."

Kirsten groaned. "It was nothing like that, Dad. He was drinking and trespassing. The police let him go with a warning. I would have called you, but things have been a little…busy."

"You and Sandy are fighting?"

"We're fine," she said. "What makes you say that?"

He ignored her question. "What's Sandy up to now? Is he still seeing that girl from his office?"

"He was never seeing Rachel," Kirsten said.

"Is it Seth?" her father asked. "It's about time he got himself into a little bit of trouble. I worry about boys who don't make mistakes now and then."

"Dad, it's nothing," Kirsten said, firmly. Her father didn't say anything, but he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, looking entirely too comfortable, and entirely unwilling to leave her any time soon.

Kirsten sighed and pushed away from her desk.

"It's that kid you adopted, isn't it?" her father asked. "He was arrested too?"

"Yes. He's in juvenile hall now," Kirsten said, not bothering to correct him about the adoption.

"Well, you always knew he was trouble, didn't you?"

Kirsten glanced out her window. Her view was mostly of a secluded patio—greenery and benches and a fountain that they rarely turned on—but in the distance she could see a sliver of the ocean.

"I'm worried about him," she said.

"Don't be, Kiki," her father said, and abruptly he stood up. "The boy got what he deserved."

"He's a good kid, Dad."

Her dad grunted and smacked his hands together, done with the conversation.

"So, if you'll be working late tonight, shall we have dinner together? Say, 7?"

He didn't wait for her to answer before he nodded once and left her office. Kirsten closed her eyes, then turned back to the resumes on her desk. She had a lot of work to do.

* * *

When Ryan walked into the visitors' center on Tuesday afternoon he saw Seth sitting at one of the metal tables. He was relieved it was Seth and not someone else, because Ryan had been worried about him, and besides, Seth wouldn't be bothered by Ryan's silence or his dirty hair. When he walked further into the room, though, he saw Marissa standing with her father at the check-in desk, accepting a visitor's badge from the clerk there. Her back was to him.

Ryan stopped walking. If Seth hadn't been there he would have turned around, found a guard and begged illness so he wouldn't have to do this. Marissa was the last person he wanted to see him here, like this. She had never seen him at his worst, and he wanted to keep it that way. Sure, she'd seen him angry and jealous, and she'd watched him get handcuffed and hauled away in a patrol car after the fire, but that was different. He had always suspected her of romanticizing his "bad boy" image in Newport—it was antithetical to the way she'd been raised, and he knew she relished that a little. But it was pretty hard to romanticize a cheap navy jumpsuit.

Jimmy looked up from the clipboard he was holding and waved, then went to sit on the bench next to the door. He was leaving them alone, Ryan guessed. Then Marissa turned and saw him, too, and he was caught. She bit her lip and looked at the floor, but not before he saw the shock that flickered across her face. She clutched her blue Chanel purse tightly against her body, but he was relieved to see that, for the most part, she had dressed down for the visit in a slightly bulky sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back and her face free of make-up except lip gloss that looked freshly applied. She was still drawing some stares, though, so Ryan moved quickly to the table, motioning for her to sit down next to Seth. He sat across from them and nodded hello. His mouth was dry and he waited for someone to speak.

"Ryan," Seth said, and then he gulped nervously and shook his head. Ryan just waited for him to continue.

"Dude, I am so sorry," Seth said. "This is all my fault. We did the exact same thing, and I get grounded, but you end up in juvie again. It's totally unfair."

Ryan shook his head. "It's not your fault, Seth."

Seth shrugged and drummed his fingers on the table. Ryan glanced at Marissa, who was staring at him, and who looked supremely uncomfortable. When he caught her eye she tugged on the end of her braid and tried to smile at him.

"My dad says to tell you he misses you, but he'll see you at your next meeting with Mr. Roper," Seth said. "And that you can call collect whenever you want."

Ryan nodded. He knew he wouldn't call, even if he wanted to. What if Kirsten answered? And what would he talk about with any of them?

"What does your mom say?" he asked. He hated that his voice suddenly sounded hoarse. Marissa noticed, and she frowned at him. Seth looked down at the table, up at Ryan, and back down again.

"I don't know, Ryan," he said finally. "She hasn't really said anything."

Ryan sighed. He wasn't surprised, but it still hurt. As far as he knew, Kirsten hadn't called or tried to visit. She was washing her hands of him, and he couldn't blame her, really. He'd always known his life with the Cohens was too good to be true, and that something inevitable and unforgivable would happen to end it all. And hurting Seth was maybe the only unforgivable thing. He was supposed to protect Seth, not get him in trouble.

"So do you have to go to court or anything?" he asked.

Seth shook his head. "I got a warning, but I won't have a record or anything. I mean, I'm grounded probably until I'm 40, but . . .you know. Like I said, it's totally unfair."

"No," Ryan said. He couldn't allow himself a moment of jealousy. "No, that's really good, man."

Marissa nudged Seth, and they exchanged a glance. Seth stood up.

"I should probably go," he said. "Let you two talk."

Ryan opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when he saw Marissa watching him. He couldn't explain why he was afraid to be alone with her. He didn't want the other inmates to see Seth leaving them alone together, a sure sign that she was his girlfriend and not just his sister or something. It was just another thing they would be able to use against him. But that was only part of the problem.

"Oh, my dad brought you some books," Seth said. "But I guess they have to get checked or something, so they said they'd bring them to your room later."

"Cool," Ryan said. "I was just thinking about that."

"Take care of yourself," Seth said, looking miserable. "I mean it, Ryan. Be careful."

"I'm fine." Ryan forced a smile. "Really. Don't worry about me."

"I wish it was me instead."

Ryan sighed. "Don't say that. You don't know what it's like."

"Still." Seth shoved his fists in his pockets. "I'll come next week if you're still here, okay?"

Ryan nodded. Next week was too far away to think about. He gave Seth a small wave, and Seth nodded back and turned away, his hands still in his pockets. He sat on the bench with Jimmy and shrugged in response to something Jimmy said.

"You look really tired," Marissa said softly, and he forced himself to look at her.

"No, I'm fine," Ryan said. He knew he was repeating himself, but what was he supposed to tell them?

Marissa reached across the table, as though to take his hands, but he shook his head.

"You aren't really supposed to touch me," he said.

Marissa looked startled. "I can't?"

"Didn't you ever see _Oz_?" Ryan said. He gave her a small smile. "Or _Shawshank Redemption_?"

"I don't really watch that kind of thing," Marissa said.

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her elbows nervously with both hands. Now he wanted to touch her, to rub away her goose bumps the way he always did.

"Cold?" he said.

"A little." She took a deep breath. "My mom doesn't want me to see you anymore."

Ryan nodded. This, he had expected.

"I'm not going to listen," Marissa said. "I don't live with her. She can't stop me."

"You should probably do what she says, though."

Marissa's eyes got wide, and she tilted her head at him.

"Don't you even care?" she said.

Ryan closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her. She was lovely, but it hurt too much, and she would never understand.

"I care, I just . . ." he said helplessly. "I mean, she's your mom."

Marissa folded her arms. She looked close to tears.

"And I'm stuck here."

"I don't care," Marissa said. "I _love_ you."

"I _know_," Ryan said, and when he didn't say anything else her eyes got wide. It was worse than the time he'd said 'thank you', and he wasn't any more capable now of saying the words she needed to hear.

"I should go," he said, and it was ridiculous, because even Marissa knew he had nowhere to go. "I mean, there's a time limit and everything."

"Fine," she said. "I'm meeting Summer after school anyway."

They both stood up, and she slung her purse over her shoulder and turned her back, and wasn't she even going to look at him?

"I'm sorry," he said. "Marissa."

She looked back over her shoulder and nodded once. Then her face softened, and she tried to smile, and that was even worse. He turned away and went straight to the guard.

"Back to my room?" he said, and waited impatiently for the gates to open.

"Hang on," the guard said, and craned his neck to look through the bars, motioning to the other guard who stood in the hallway. As soon as the gates slid open, Ryan went quickly through and headed down the hall. He just wanted to escape.

The guard said, "Hold it. You had a visitor; you know the rules."

Ryan sighed and faced the wall, putting his hands behind his head. The guard slid both hands briskly down the sides of Ryan's jumpsuit, and then stopped.

"Are you all right?" he said.

"Why?" Ryan said, startled. Normally the guards didn't speak to them during searches. He'd always figured they weren't supposed to.

"Well, you're shaking," the guard said. When Ryan didn't say anything, he added, "Visits can be rough."

"I'm fine," Ryan said automatically.

"If you say so," the guard said. He finished the pat-down and took Ryan back to his room, and neither of them said anything at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ryan spent Wednesday staying as far away from Rivera as he could. It wasn't easy. Ryan and Silva sat together in class and ate dinner at the same table, and Ryan quickly realized that something was going on between Silva and Rivera, something that he didn't quite understand. They seemed to be engaged in a battle of wills. Rivera had enemies in juvie, but he had friends too, and his friends were making life miserable for Silva. He kept getting sucker-punched, in the kidneys or the back of the head, whenever the guards weren't looking. The assailants were so quick that sometimes Ryan didn't see the punches, only Silva's reaction to them, which was no more than a flicker of expression across his face. Silva didn't flinch, even when they took him by surprise. The less he reacted, the more abuse he took. It went on all day. They tripped him during exercise. They stole his sandwich and his apple at dinner. In the showers, they stared. The guards watched them all pretty closely in the showers—otherwise, bad things happened—but staring was bad enough. It was a clear threat, and Ryan knew that Silva noticed, even if he didn't talk about it. Silva still wouldn't talk about anything.

That night Ryan curled up on his mattress, cramming the flattened pillow under his head. He had been trying to fall asleep for almost an hour without luck. It was hard to relax when he was trapped in a grimy 8-by-10 box with a sociopath. Besides, he was freezing. His hair was still damp from the shower and his feet were icy. He wanted to bury them in the blanket, but it was too small. The cold of the cement floor soaked through the thin mattress pad and settled into his bones. He thought of his bed in the pool house, where he could sprawl out on his back in all directions with room to spare. There were always extra blankets stacked in the closet, and water to drink whenever he wanted, and a bathroom he could use without asking first. In the past few days Ryan had had to stop himself from dwelling on thoughts of the Cohens' house. It just made him bitter and depressed. He started craving coffee and solitude and fresh air. But tonight the thoughts were strangely soothing, and Ryan closed his eyes, imagining he was back in the pool house, warm and well-fed and safe. He was just starting to drift off when he heard creaking sounds above him. Rivera was shifting around in his bunk. Ryan lay perfectly still, but Silva shot to a sitting position and got his feet on the floor at the same time Rivera slid off the end of his bunk. It was as though they had planned it, and maybe they had. Ryan sat up and watched them carefully, ready to move if he needed to. Rivera leaned his elbow on the top bunk and looked at Silva with a little smile. Silva turned and looked down at Ryan.

"Move," he said, and when Ryan didn't respond immediately he leaned forward and repeated it, more urgently. "Move."

Their eyes met, and Silva's were exhausted more than anything, the eyes of someone who'd lived life a hundred times over and was constantly disappointed that it never got easier. Ryan nodded and got to his feet, backing against the far wall. Silva stood in the middle of the room, his back to Ryan. He faced Rivera, who sauntered toward him, his movements studied and casual. He outweighed Silva by a good 50 pounds, Ryan figured.

Rivera said to Silva, "You protecting him again? Your little bitch?"

Silva just made a noise low in his throat, a cross between a growl and a sigh. He lowered his head and clenched his fists and before Ryan could process what was happening, Silva had lunged at Rivera's stomach, slipping a little on Ryan's mattress but knocking Rivera to the floor anyway. He brought his fist down on Rivera's mouth and again on his cheek before Rivera caught his wrists and flipped them so he was on top. He delivered one blow to Silva's face and then just pinned him and fumbled at the front pocket of his jumpsuit. Ryan knew then what was going to happen, and moved forward even before Rivera reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic kitchen knife, honed to a sharp and shining point.

"Don't get too close," Rivera said, "or I'll cut you, too."

"Don't do this," Ryan said, hating the pleading note that had crept into his voice. If there was one thing you didn't do with guys like Rivera, it was plead. They liked it too much. They fed off it. Ryan wanted to jump in and help Silva, but he might get stabbed. They might both get stabbed.

Rivera smiled. "You think, what? I'm gonna kill him?"

Silva struggled under Rivera, but Rivera kept him pinned easily with one hand, and lightly traced the plastic blade down his face.

"It's okay, Atwood," Rivera said. "I'm just gonna cut him. Just a little. He'll still be pretty for you. You just stand back or he gets it worse."

Ryan stood still, clenching his hands at his sides, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe silently. Together he and Silva could probably take Rivera, but he had another hearing coming up—if they caught him fighting inside he'd be done. If he called for help he'd be done, too, eaten alive by Rivera's friends. He might not be able to save Silva. He might not be able to save himself. There was no course of action he wouldn't regret.

Ryan took a step closer and Rivera lashed out. The knife caught and snagged on Ryan's jumpsuit, missing his skin but tearing a small hole in the cloth over his thigh. His stomach jumped and his heart pounded and Sandy's face flashed in front of his eyes. He remembered his promise and his body made the decision for him. He jumped past Rivera and Silva and pounded on the door, shouting for the guards, keeping himself safe.

* * *

Ryan lay on his bunk in the isolation unit, staring up at the ceiling. It was Thursday morning, he was pretty sure of that, but he hadn't slept at all. When the guards had burst in to break up the fight, he hadn't moved back fast enough to suit them, and he'd gotten a face full of pepper spray. So he'd been doubled over in a coughing fit, his eyes streaming, when the guards wrestled Rivera to the ground and took both of the other guys away in handcuffs. He looked up as they were pulled from the room and saw through the tears in his eyes that they were both glaring at him. He couldn't blame either of them. Probably nothing would happen, but Rivera could get another assault charge added to his record, and Silva was one step closer to being deported. Ryan knew that Rivera's friends would come after him, that they wouldn't stop until they paid him back for ratting Rivera out. If Silva had any friends, they would do the same for him. Ryan didn't have any friends.

One of the guards had returned a few minutes after taking the other guys away to ask Ryan some questions, what he'd seen and heard and who had done what. Ryan sat on the edge of Silva's bunk and answered the questions honestly. He didn't know what the fight was about. No, he hadn't known about the knife. He had no idea how Rivera had smuggled it into the cell and kept it there, considering how often the wards and the rooms got searched. He stood against the wall while the guard tore the room apart looking for more weapons, without success. Ryan's throat burned in a hundred tiny places from the pepper spray and his eyes watered continuously. He was still shaking from the whole encounter, and it wasn't until the guard was poised to leave the room that he got up the courage to request placement in isolation.

"Are you sure you want that, Atwood?" the guard said. "It's a lockdown unit, you know. You're not going to get special privileges just because you asked for it."

"I know," Ryan said. He tried to take a breath and ended up coughing instead. When he could speak again he said, "I'm sure."

The guard had shrugged and nodded, and within an hour Ryan was installed in the room that the wards had dubbed the Suicide Room. Ryan had heard that the residents of the room usually had to go without sheets and wear hospital gowns in case they tried to hang themselves. He didn't have to suffer those particular indignities, but he couldn't escape the camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. He suspected he would get used to it, though, that it would become routine like everything else. He'd grown accustomed to eating goulash and cheap peanut butter instead of swordfish and salad, accustomed to owning nothing, not even his clothes, accustomed to having every minute of the day scheduled for him, in contrast to the freedom he'd enjoyed with the Cohens. Only the fear had never become a matter of routine. In juvie he was afraid every day, in a way he had never experienced before. The fear was like a sharp stone that he couldn't remove from his shoe; as long as he kept walking he couldn't forget it, and it never stopped hurting.

At least in the Suicide Room he had little to fear but boredom. The four walls of the tiny cell and the blank eye of the camera kept him safe from the worst of the rest. It didn't matter that he would be on 23-hour lockdown, that he would only leave his cell for exercise and showers and trips to the toilet. It didn't matter that there was no one to talk to, no school, no games in the rec room. What mattered was his promise to Sandy. That was maybe the only thing no one had taken from him yet, and he didn't intend to break it, even if Sandy never knew. It was the only thing Ryan had left to give.

* * *

Kelly Davidson tapped his shoulder Friday afternoon and Seth turned in his seat to see half of his AP calculus class staring at him. But no one was more surprised than Seth when Kelly dropped a note on his desk, and he recognized Summer's dainty handwriting. He quickly glanced at her sitting on the other side of the room, but she was staring straight ahead, her eyes trained on Mrs. Ligg.

Check out Piggy's panty line.

The last thing Seth wanted to look at in this classroom was Mrs. Ligg's panty line, but he wasn't about to disobey Summer. He waited until Mrs. Ligg turned around to write something on the dry erase board and then, much to his complete disgust, checked out her ass. Yep, that was a panty line. Seth scratched a message under Summer's writing.

One word: Thong.

He folded the paper in half and in half again—Summer had arranged the note into some kind of star-shaped design that he didn't even attempt to recreate—and, with Mrs. Ligg's back still to the classroom, handed it to Kelly. She looked at him for a second, clearly not getting that not only was Seth the recipient of a note from Summer, but he was actually daring to write back to her, before shrugging and passing it on.

For his part, Seth's surprise was mostly due to the timing of the note, not that she'd written to him at all. Sure, if someone had told him six months ago that Summer would be passing him notes in class, he would have sat down and taken his shoes off to make it easier for the peeing, because the whole thing must be a joke. But now, well, now things were different. Summer knew his name. And she'd kissed him. Multiple times. And the last time he'd spoken to her she'd been dressed as Wonder Woman. Okay, not exactly the last time, but it was by far his most vivid recent memory of her.

Except they hadn't spoken at all since Chrismukkah, when she'd refused his gift of friendship and a Seth Cohen starter pack. Not a word. Not even a "hey" in the hallways. He'd made out with Anna on New Year's Eve, and he thought maybe they were even dating now although he wasn't quite sure, but there'd been nothing from Summer. Until now.

He heard a muffled "eep" from across the room and turned to see Summer trying to smother a laugh behind her hand. His note was open in front of her, and Seth smiled. He watched her scribble a reply and fold the note back into a star, then hand it off to Danny Park.

Seth kept his eyes trained on the dry erase board while the note made its way across the room, and he started copying an equation into his notebook. Kelly didn't bother tapping his shoulder this time. The note landed in his lap.

Ew! That was mean, Cohen.

Seth grinned. He could hear Summer's voice in his head. He glanced in her direction again, but she was facing the front of the room, her face a study in innocence. He read the rest of the note and frowned.

How's Chino?

For a moment Seth thought she meant the city, and he wondered if it was as cold in Chino right now as it was in Newport. But then he realized she meant Ryan, and any pleasant thoughts he'd been having about Summer and renewing their friendship were wiped away.

He'd managed to go nearly 15 minutes without thinking about Ryan.

Since their arrest a week ago, Seth had been nearly constantly preoccupied with worry for Ryan. It had only gotten worse after their short visit in juvie, when Ryan had been exhausted and miserable. His dad had told him Ryan might even have to stay there for a while this time, maybe even months, maybe even get sent to a boot camp for juvenile delinquents, and Seth knew Ryan would fit in at boot camp about as well as he'd fit in Newport. So yeah, Seth was worried. Or actually, he was freaking out, because he had no idea what was going to happen to Ryan or how he'd survive being locked up for weeks or months.

Seth couldn't stop thinking about how unfair it was, that he was back home while Ryan was locked up. And okay, so being at home wasn't all that great right now, with his parents fighting, but not fighting, because they were both apparently so angry that they couldn't even speak to each other. And he was grounded, which meant he was basically locked up too, in a way.

But Seth was getting notes from Summer, and Ryan, well, Ryan was probably fending off gang members or making license plates or sharpening sporks for self-defense. Seth had no idea what kids did in juvie. Ryan had never told him.

The bell rang and Seth jumped in his seat. He'd been totally unaware that another 15 minutes had passed. He quickly folded Summer's note and stuck it in his calculus textbook, then headed toward the exit. Summer was waiting for him in the hallway.

"Hey," she said, smiling shyly at him and rocking back on her feet in that way that made her seem both graceful and naive.

"Hi, Summer."

"Walk me to Spanish?"

Seth had French on the other side of the campus in five minutes.

"Yeah, okay," he said.

They walked in silence through the crowded halls and then the quad. Seth noticed the way kids moved out of the way for Summer. When he was walking alone, stray elbows and feet tended to cross his path pretty regularly.

"Marissa told me about visiting Ryan," Summer said suddenly. She stopped in front of her classroom.

Seth didn't know what to say to that, so he settled on "Oh."

"It sucks in there, huh?"

"Unless blue's really your color and you like living with a bunch of guys who want to knife you in your sleep, then yeah, you could say it sucks."

Summer scowled at him and clutched her books close to her chest.

"So, like, when is he getting out?"

Seth shrugged. "Tomorrow? Next week? Next year? I don't know."

"Cohen-"

"I'm sorry. Look, I really don't know what's going on and this whole thing just blows."

"So you feel pretty guilty about what happened."

Summer had a weird knack sometimes for being a lot more clued in than she looked. Seth ran a hand through his hair and nodded just as the bell rang, and he knew he was going to be late for class. Summer reached out and laid a hand on his arm. He stared at her nail polish, deep purple and flawless.

"Well, if you see him again, tell him I said hi."

She squeezed his arm quickly and then she turned and was swept into her classroom with a flood of kids. Seth waited until the hallway was empty before he walked away.

* * *

Ryan sat on the floor of the Suicide Room, his back against the wall, reading _One Hundred Years of Solitude_, one of the books Sandy had sent him. The title seemed like a sick joke at first, considering his current situation, but the book was really good. The language was so colorful and alive that Ryan always felt a little dazed when he looked up and saw the scarred white walls surrounding him.

He had been in isolation for four days, four days of staring at the white walls glowing under the florescent lights. There was nothing else to look at, no windows or furniture except the bunk. Paperback books were the only personal items he could keep in the cell with him, and he'd grown unreasonably attached to the ones he had. Aside from his jumpsuit, their bright covers were the only spots of color in the room, and the words the closest thing he had to conversation most of the time. Sometimes he felt sick from the constant reading and the bright lights, so he filled the rest of the hours playing word games and doing math problems with his eyes closed. He'd do anything to push away the thoughts that filled his mind.

Marissa seemed like a dream to him now. He had trouble picturing her face; she appeared, instead, as a collection of disjointed images: wide eyes, long limbs, rumpled hair. He couldn't recall the sound of her voice, though he remembered with perfect clarity the soft, slightly damp skin of her palms pressing against his face when she leaned in for a kiss. It was better not to think of that.

He tried not to think of Kirsten, either, because that made his stomach churn with too many emotions to name. He felt sick with guilt when he thought of her face at the police station, but sometimes if the memory hit him at the wrong moment, he was furious, too. Because even if she hated him, even if would never forgive him for getting Seth in trouble, she could have at least _looked_ at him. She could have at least called Sandy. She wasn't his mother, she would never be his parent, but she was supposed to be his guardian. Sometimes the fury made him tense up so much he couldn't breathe from the effort of holding it in. He couldn't just punch the wall or throw his books, not while the camera stared down at him. The room got smaller and the walls got closer and sometimes he just had to grab a book to open up the world again.

The door to the Suicide Room opened, and Ryan looked up. He hated it when they dropped in on him unannounced. He always thought it was time, that they were kicking him out of isolation to make room for someone who needed it more, and he was going back to intake to get knifed by Rivera's friends.

It was Smith, one of the nicer guards, actually. He was usually the one to take Ryan out for showers or exercise. He sometimes asked Ryan about his books or filled him in on the plots of TV shows Ryan had never seen. He didn't really mind, though. It was nice to hear the sound of another person's voice.

"We're going on a little trip," Smith said, beckoning for Ryan to stand.

Ryan set his book aside and got to his feet. "Should I get my stuff?"

"No need," Smith said. He circled around behind Ryan. "You want to give me your hands?"

Ryan reluctantly put his hands behind his back. Smith put handcuffs on him, handling his wrists so gently that in the midst of his confusion Ryan felt a little sad. It was nice, for once, not to be treated like he was dangerous.

"I thought we were going back to intake."

"Nope," Smith said. "Jail services building. Next door."

Ryan had never heard of the jail services building, and he had no idea what happened there, or why he might be going. It couldn't be a hearing, since those usually happened at the courthouse. He was probably due for another meeting with his lawyer, but why wouldn't Mr. Roper just come to see him in juvie? He hated being kept in the dark, but that was the way it worked in juvie. They just decided what you needed to know, and when you needed to know it.

Smith took Ryan's elbow and glanced at his face.

"Hey, kid," he said, "don't look so scared. Maybe it's good news this time."

* * *

Smith walked Ryan down the hall of the jail services building, keeping one hand lightly on his arm. They rounded a corner and Sandy was there at the end of the hall, talking animatedly with Mr. Roper. He was smiling, and Ryan felt it again: that crazy rush of relief, like somehow Sandy was going to make everything all right again. It was stupid. Sandy hadn't been able to get him out of jail last week, and in fact he might have made things worse with all his talking. But Ryan had a feeling that if Sandy had been around he might never have gone to juvie in the first place, that he would've gone home with Seth. He would never admit it to anyone, but he felt safer with Sandy around.

Sandy looked up and noticed Ryan, and his whole face lit up. He came down the hall to meet them, doing his funny fast walk where he pumped his arms and nearly bounced on the balls of his feet. He looked kind of like Seth, and Ryan would have smiled, except his stomach was jumping too much.

"Hey, kid!" Sandy said, patting him on the shoulder. "Ready for the meeting?"

Ryan looked at him, waiting. He hadn't known about any meeting.

"Nobody told you anything?"

Ryan shook his head.

"I tried to call you a couple of times this weekend," Sandy said, "but I never got through. They said you weren't available to take calls. Everything okay?"

Ryan shrugged, then nodded. There was no point in going into it.

"Well, the meeting is to discuss your plea agreement," Sandy said.

"I have a plea agreement?"

"Well, not yet," Sandy said. "Ian and I have drafted one, and we have approval from your probation officer and the D.A., but of course nothing is definite unless you agree to it. Then if the judge approves it today, we're all set."

"The judge is here?" Ryan said, swallowing hard. "The same judge?"

"Yes, Judge Alexander. He has an office in this building," Sandy said. "That's why we're meeting here."

Mr. Roper came over and nodded a greeting. "Let's head in."

Smith escorted Ryan through an open doorway, into a room very much like the one where he had met Sandy for the first time, with long metal tables and little stools attached to the floor. Ryan got anxious all over again, remembering that first day, waking up in a cell and thinking, so clearly: so this is my life now. He'd been rude to Sandy, and he was sorry later when he picked up the phone and realized Sandy was the only person he had left to call. Just another thing to be sorry for.

Smith freed Ryan's hands, patted his shoulder, and left the room. Ryan sat down across from Mr. Roper, and Sandy sat down next to Ryan. Which meant he was playing guardian, not lawyer. It had been hard to be sure, this past week. Mr. Roper pushed a pile of papers across the table.

"There's good news. We managed to plea the felony charge of assault on an officer down to a misdemeanor charge of resisting arrest with violence. The criminal trespass is also a Class A misdemeanor, and then there's possession of alcohol, which is a status offense. All complicated, of course, by the fact that these are all probation violations."

Ryan nodded. His fists were clenched in his lap, and he stared down at them, because he sure as hell couldn't look at Mr. Roper or Sandy.

"So according the agreement, you'd enter a guilty plea for the remaining charges." Mr. Roper said. "Which means you won't have an official adjudication hearing with the judge, but–"

Sandy said, "Ryan, I think you should go for this. Since you hit that cop–"

"I didn't hit him."

"Pushed him, then," Sandy said. "It doesn't matter, Ryan. You assaulted an officer and Judge Alexander is notorious for being tough on that kind of thing. My guess is, he'll push for placement in a boot camp. He's a big proponent of them. Fresh air, hard work, the whole bit."

Ryan looked at Sandy and couldn't help scowling. The pictures that jumped to his mind at the words "boot camp" were disturbing. He pictured cleaning toilets and doing pushups and standing at attention while some fake drill sergeant yelled at him. Fresh air and physical activity notwithstanding, he thought he'd probably lose his mind, or at the very least, his temper. On a regular basis.

"Whereas we've asked the judge to consider home detention," Mr. Roper said.

Ryan swallowed hard and didn't say anything. He didn't even know how to ask the questions he had circling in his head.

Mr. Roper looked irritated at Ryan's silence. He said, "Look, Ryan, you're not going to get off with just a fine and probation this time. There are a lot worse things than home detention."

Ryan snapped, "You think I don't know that?"

"Ryan," Sandy said; a warning.

"I'm sorry," Ryan said, and he was. But he would bet Mr. Roper hadn't been locked up a day in his life. He took a deep breath. "I knew people in Chino on home detention. It's – it didn't seem that bad."

Actually, from what he'd seen, home detention was a joke. People sold drugs and stole cars while they were on home detention.

"I just–" he said, and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks and he looked down at the warped metal table. "Um, home? Is that – back with you?"

He sneaked a glance at Sandy, who rubbed his eyebrows and sighed.

"Ryan," he said, "of course."

Ryan stared down at his feet, at the cheap canvas shoes. He didn't know what to say.

"We're all looking forward to you coming home," Sandy said, but he was straining just a little too hard to sound cheerful now. "If the judge accepts the plea agreement, we'll probably be cleared to bring you back tomorrow."

He couldn't help looking at Sandy then. Because he'd imagined all of this happening in the next few weeks, but – tomorrow? He couldn't even let himself think about that for long.

"We're still your legal guardians," Sandy said gently.

Ryan nodded.

"You do want to come home with me?" Sandy said. "And you know there's a chance it won't work out. The judge might send you back to juvenile hall or to a boot camp. I can't make any promises, you know that. But if you can?"

Part of him wanted to say no. The part of him that was tired of accepting help, and living up to expectations, and depending on other people to take care of him—that part of him wanted to refuse. Because he was just going to keep disappointing them, and he knew that. But a greater part of him was just so tired, and there was only one place in the world that felt at all like home. And yeah, he wanted to go there.

He nodded at Sandy and reached for the pen.

"Tell me where to sign?"

* * *

The meeting with the judge was over and Ryan paced in the holding cell where they'd stashed him. He was alone for once, no cameras or guards or roommates, and he was furious. He didn't even know why he was so upset, but the anger was flowing through him, noxious and dark, like ink in his bloodstream.

A set of keys rattled in the door and Sandy came in, closing the door behind him. He tilted his head and tried to catch Ryan's eye, but Ryan turned his back, facing the scarred cinderblock wall.

"You didn't tell me this would happen," he said to Sandy. He could hear his voice shaking, and he didn't even care.

"I told you home detention was a strong possibility."

"Yeah, you said home detention," Ryan said. "You didn't say electronic _monitoring_. You never said I'd have to wear an ankle bracelet."

"I didn't know," Sandy said. "Don't you think I would have tried to prepare you?"

The deliberate, calm tone of Sandy's voice infuriated Ryan even more.

"You could have _said_ something," he said.

"What? At the hearing?" Sandy said. "I was there as your guardian, you know that. Not your lawyer. I wasn't going to open my mouth and say something that might get you taken from us. I couldn't risk that."

He came up behind Ryan and stood close to him, too close, like the Cohens always did. Ryan wanted to move away, but he was staring at a wall. There was quite literally nowhere to go.

"Ryan. Ryan, look at me."

Sandy laid his hand on Ryan's arm, and before Ryan thought, he jerked his arm away with a violence that surprised him. It must have surprised Sandy, too, because he retreated, going to sit on the cement bench that was built into the side of the wall. Ryan leaned his forehead on the cold cinderblocks and tried to breathe. His jaw ached, and he felt sick. This wasn't ever, ever going to end.

"I know it must have been hard for you to hear those things about yourself," Sandy said softly, and Ryan just wished he'd give it up and yell, already. "It must have been humiliating, and infuriating, and I'm sorry."

Ryan gritted his teeth, though it just made the ache in his jaw worse. Sandy had nothing to be sorry for, and they both knew that, and it wasn't even Sandy he was mad at. But he didn't like hearing that he was disrespectful and stupid. He didn't like hearing that he was a danger to society, that he could have killed somebody in the car, or in the fire, or at the construction site. He hadn't hurt the cop, not really. All the people he had ever hurt had deserved it.

"You're coming home tomorrow," Sandy said. "As soon as they set up the home monitoring device you'll be free to leave. You can sleep in your own bed and wear your own clothes."

"Not mine," Ryan said under his breath. He didn't own anything anymore, not even his own body. Maybe tomorrow he'd get to wear clothes no one but him had ever worn, and he'd sleep in a familiar bed. But he'd wear a tracking device, like a homing pigeon. It would be like a dog collar. Like something out of an Orwell novel. A constant reminder that he wasn't free.

"Listen," Sandy said, and now he sounded really angry. "Maybe for once you could just accept the gifts people give you. It's part of being a family. Accepting gifts. Accepting love. Until you learn that, there's nothing I can do for you."

"Oh, so this is a gift?" Ryan said. He was practically shouting, but he didn't care.

"It's not jail. It's not a boot camp," Sandy snapped. "Anything that brings you home? That's a gift. I'm going to take it."

Ryan pushed his forehead harder into the wall, and it was so cold. He was shivering, and he wanted to cry, or turn around and hit Sandy. He didn't want to answer. He couldn't say a word.

"Ryan," Sandy said, and Ryan found his voice again, because he just couldn't take anymore.

"Leave me the fuck alone," he said. "Please."

He closed his eyes and held perfectly still. Finally, Sandy got up and walked quietly over to the door, knocking on it so they'd know he wanted out. Even when the door slammed behind Sandy and the latch slid shut, Ryan stood still.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The technicians from the electronic monitoring company arrived at the house before Sandy had come home, and Kirsten leaned against the kitchen counter, watching while they installed the device that would keep track of Ryan. She wanted a glass of wine but suspected they wouldn't approve, not that the technicians had any say over this situation. Still, she already felt like she was being judged. So Kirsten gripped the kitchen counter until the edges dug into her palms and her fingers hurt.

Sandy came home just as the technicians were packing up, and Kirsten could tell by his rounded shoulders and rumpled suit—he'd loosened the tie around his neck already and unbuttoned the top of his shirt—that he wasn't in a good mood. He set his briefcase on the counter and studied Kristen for a moment before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You guys are already done?" he asked the technicians.

The larger of the two technicians—Kirsten hadn't asked for either of their names—nodded and closed his toolbox. He pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and set it on the counter in front of Sandy.

"Just need you to sign here," he said, taking out a pen from another pocket and tapping on a line at the bottom of the paper.

Sandy scanned the document and Kirsten crossed her arms. The second technician, who looked like he couldn't have been older than 19 and wore his hair in a ponytail, had drifted into the eating area and was checking out the backyard. Kirsten imagined that it wasn't often they installed these devices in homes with ocean views and infinity pools.

"You didn't have any problems?" Sandy asked, and Kirsten leaned forward to glance at the document he was preparing to sign. It was just a work order.

"Nope. You're all set," the large technician said. "You guys know you have six separate phone lines coming into this house? Most people, we have to get another line for them. Takes a few days to get it all done."

Kirsten wished, just a little bit, that she had a few more days to adjust to all of this, to Ryan coming home. It all felt so sudden. She couldn't believe it had been 10 days since she'd last seen him.

Sandy signed the work order and walked the technicians to the front door. Kirsten reached into the cabinet behind her for a glass, thought better of it, and went to the refrigerator for a beer instead. When Sandy got back to the kitchen she was rifling through a drawer for the bottle opener. He found it first and opened the bottle for her, taking a quick drink before handing it back to her.

She'd been visiting a construction site when Sandy had called on her cell phone the first time. He'd been full of excitement then, his words rushed and so loud that she'd had to hold the phone away from her ear. He'd told her about the plea agreement, about getting Ryan out of juvie the next day. She'd felt immediately anxious and had skipped lunch and returned to the office to bury herself in work. His second call had come in the afternoon, and she'd known from his clipped greeting—"It's me, can you talk now?"—that something had gone wrong. He'd told her only the basics: that Ryan would be home tomorrow, that he would be under electronic monitoring. He'd said he would answer her questions later.

But it was later now, and Kirsten didn't have any questions. None that she could ask him, anyway.

"Are you okay with this?" Sandy asked, resting his hands on the counter and watching her carefully.

Kirsten opened her mouth, not at all sure how to answer that question. Then Seth walked in and she was saved, and she took a long drink from her beer.

"What's for dinner?" Seth asked, opening the refrigerator.

Sandy flashed a quick look at Kirsten, something like a warning.

"I've got some good news," Sandy said. "Ryan's coming home."

Seth jumped back from the refrigerator and let the door swing shut.

"You're kidding," he said. "When?"

"Tomorrow," Sandy said with a smile.

"Dad, that's awesome," Seth said. He quickly crossed to Sandy and the two embraced easily, patting each other on the back before letting go. "How'd you do it?"

"We worked out a plea agreement with Ryan's probation officer and the judge. Ryan's not too happy with the conditions, but he's coming home."

"You're like a superhero," Seth said, leaning against the counter and nodding appreciatively.

Sandy's smile faded at that, and Kirsten remembered how disappointed he'd sounded on the phone that afternoon. He hadn't told her or Seth that he was even working on a plea agreement, and she imagined he'd been looking forward to surprising them with the good news of Ryan's release. Or looking forward to surprising Seth.

"I wouldn't go that far," Sandy said. "Ryan's going to be under a lot tighter restrictions. He'll have to come home immediately after school's out. He'll have weekly meetings with his probation officer. Random drug and alcohol tests. Daily curfews. He's basically going to have to keep his nose clean, and I mean really clean, 24 hours a day."

"Okay, that's not so bad, we can do that," Seth said. Kirsten smiled thinly at her son's protective streak, at his determination to help Ryan and keep him out of trouble. It made her heart hurt for both of them.

"Well, that's not all," Sandy said. "The judge insisted on electronic monitoring."

"You mean, like, a tracking device?" Seth asked.

Sandy nodded. "Sort of. Well, yeah. He basically wears this device all the time, around his ankle, and it allows the probation department to know where he is. Or, rather, where he isn't."

Kirsten had already known the basics, but listening to Sandy spell it out for Seth, it hit her for the first time: Ryan would be a prisoner in her home.

"He's under house arrest," Kirsten said.

Sandy shot her a disapproving frown but didn't reject her comment. Kirsten looked down at the floor, imagining her house as a jail. She pictured bars on the windows, armed guards, blue jumpsuits, and she wanted to laugh because it was ridiculous. But they'd already installed a monitoring device in her home. What else was going to change?

"What is our role in all of this?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Sandy said.

"Are we cops? Are we prison guards?" Kirsten said. "We can't watch him constantly, Sandy. What happens if he gets in trouble again? What happens if he gets in a fight at school, or comes home late? Do we lock him in the pool house? Handcuff him to his bed?"

Sandy stared hard at her, his mouth open. The kitchen seemed very quiet and Kirsten realized she'd been nearly shouting. She leaned back against the counter and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She wasn't sure she was up to this new task, this intense responsibility, and the doubt made her feel weak. They had failed Ryan once. What happened if they failed him again?

"We're his parents," Sandy said finally. "We look out for him, just like we do with Seth."

Kirsten shook her head slightly but didn't say anything. It wasn't just like Seth. She'd had to learn to trust Ryan, to believe in him—that trust hadn't come naturally to her. And just when their new family had been starting to come together, everything had fallen apart. She couldn't afford to make another mistake with Ryan. It would hurt both of them too much.

Kirsten glanced at Seth and felt sick at the horror she saw on his face. Like his father, Seth's mouth was open, his eyes wide. He looked away from her. She wanted to go to him and hug him, reassure him. Reassure herself.

"I'm going to my room," Seth said. "What time will Ryan be home, Dad?"

Sandy shook his head, seemed to clear his mind. "I'll probably get him sometime after noon. He should be home by the time you get out of school."

"Great," Seth said, and without another word or another look at Kirsten, he left the kitchen.

Sandy paced for a moment on the other side of the kitchen island, his hands buried in his pockets. When he stopped, he placed both palms on the counter and leaned toward Kirsten.

"This isn't going to work if we aren't behind him as a family," Sandy said, his eyes locked onto her face. "Ryan's going to need both of us. Are you going to be able to do this?"

Kirsten took a deep breath and considered how she could answer that. Sandy was so confident. She wasn't.

"I'll try," she said.

"Is that going to be good enough?"

"It's the best I can do," she said.

Sandy seemed to consider her words, then nodded briefly. He picked up his briefcase and walked away. Kirsten finished her beer alone in the kitchen, then called for Chinese delivery. She tried not to look at the monitoring device beside her phone.

* * *

The night of Ryan's sentencing, a 13-year-old kid tried to hang himself with his own bed sheets. Ryan could hear the commotion even from the isolation unit; people banging on the walls and shouting, running footsteps in the halls. He wasn't entirely surprised when, an hour or so after the sounds died down, two guards came to his cell and told him to pack up his books. One of them held out a plastic bag and Ryan dropped the books in. That guard carried the books away while the other guard hustled Ryan down the hall in the opposite direction. As they went through the door that led back to intake Ryan saw him: a little twig of a kid wrapped in a blanket, shivering between two guards. The kid lifted his head as they passed, and their eyes met. He looked wild, like he might lunge and bite. Ryan felt his skin crawl and was glad when the guard pulled at his arm and led him away.

He spent a restless night in the top bunk of an unfamiliar cell, a guy he'd never seen before snoring in the bunk beneath him. He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that he was probably in that little kid's bed, in the same cell where he had tried to kill himself. The anger Ryan had carried all day was slipping away, replaced by a dizzying combination of panic and relief. He was getting out. Some kids never did. He might not be free, exactly, but he'd be safe. And there was a lot to be said for that.

He didn't know how he was going to face Sandy.

* * *

The following day Ryan sat next to Sandy on a bench in the jail services building. A part of him wished he could apologize, but the words stuck in his throat and silenced him. He couldn't even look Sandy in the eye. Sandy had greeted him quietly and then lapsed into silence, too. He was uncharacteristically subdued, sitting with his hands in his lap and only tapping his foot every now and then. He sat a couple of feet away and didn't reach out the way he normally did. Ryan had gotten accustomed to the one-armed hugs and shoulder pats Sandy normally doled out, and he kind of missed them. He didn't really miss Sandy trying to make him talk, but the silence was worse.

When the jail services officer—who pleasantly introduced himself as Andrew—called them into his office, Sandy practically jumped out of his seat and went into the office ahead of Ryan. Which meant he had felt the awkwardness, too.

"Have a seat, Ryan," Andrew said. "We're just going to do a brief orientation session, to make sure you understand how this all works. Please stop me at any time if you have questions. It's very important that you understand what you're getting into."

Ryan nodded. His throat felt tight.

"There are a couple of pieces of equipment you're going to be working with," Andrew said. "First there's the home monitoring receiving unit, which looks like this."

He held up a white box about the size of a toaster. "We've already installed one of these in your residence. It contains a receiver that's connected to your home phone line. The transmitter is here, in this little guy."

Andrew held up the ankle bracelet and then slid it across the table to Ryan.

"Go ahead, pick it up," he said, nodding. "Take a look."

Ryan took the bracelet reluctantly. It was made of black rubber and plastic. The band looked kind of like a watch band, only thicker. The transmitter was a little smaller than a cassette tape. It was going to be pretty hard to hide. Ryan put it back on the table and pushed it away, just slightly.

"Yeah, you'll get used to it," Andrew said. "You'll be wearing the bracelet 24 hours a day, even when you're sleeping. It's waterproof and safe to wear in the shower or swimming, so you don't ever have to take it off."

He tapped first the black square on the bracelet, then the white box.

"The transmitter emits a constant radio signal to this box, the receiver. You're going to have a range of about 100 feet from the receiver. If you move out of bounds, the signal is interrupted and folks at the electronic monitoring center will know you're not where you're supposed to be. Same thing happens if you tamper with the bracelet or try to remove it. In either case they'll send someone, either police or EM staff, to track you down."

Ryan glanced at Sandy, who was nodding and frowning a little. He'd probably done this before with his clients, but Ryan knew it was different this time, that his actions had probably reflected badly on Sandy.

"Violations are taken very seriously," Andrew continued. "Just a couple of minor violations could extend your sentence or land you back in detention to serve the rest of it. You've got, what, 90 days?"

"Yeah, 90," Sandy said, before Ryan could answer.

Andrew nodded. "Well, you're going to want to be careful."

"I know," Ryan said, more softly than he'd intended. He felt Sandy looking at him.

"You getting all this, kid?" Sandy asked. He touched Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan looked him full in the face for the first time since the day before. Sandy's face was soft, and Ryan knew he'd been forgiven for his anger, without having to say or do anything. Ryan nodded at Sandy and looked away. Sometimes forgiveness hurt worse than anger. Sometimes it hurt worse than anything.

"What about school?" Ryan asked, more to distract himself than because he really cared about the answer.

Andrew shuffled some papers. "You'll resume classes at your high school. Since you don't have a job, school is the only place you're allowed to go, other than your own residence. And you'll go straight there and come straight home. No detours to the grocery store. No visiting friends' houses. If you're not where you're supposed to be, we'll know. Okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan said. "I get it."

Andrew set some papers on the desk in front of Ryan.

"Here we go. Your guardians have written a schedule of your weekly movements and indicated that they will be transporting you to and from school. They'll bring you back here once a week so we can fill out a weekly report and inspect the equipment. You'll also be required to submit to drug and alcohol screenings at these meetings. On the weekends you'll be in lockdown, and won't leave your home except for emergencies. Do you have any questions?"

Ryan shook his head and frowned at the schedule in front of him. It was all pretty straightforward. And maybe he deserved it—he knew he did, at least partly. But it was invasive and it sucked, and he didn't have to like it.

Sandy was watching him again.

"Ryan, how are you doing?" he said. "Are you okay with all of this?"

"Does it matter?" Ryan said, and immediately wished he could take back the words. He knew what Sandy had saved him from, and besides, he was just starting to realize what a burden this was going to be for Sandy and Kirsten. It wasn't just the awkwardness of having a juvenile delinquent under house arrest in the pool house. It was going to be huge hassle for everyone. They'd probably have to take time off work, and rearrange their schedules for him.

"I mean – I'm sorry," Ryan said to Sandy. "But I can't ask you to do all this. You and Kirsten."

Sandy shook his head.

"We talked about it," he said. "Look, I've already signed the contract. Kirsten, too. And Seth is so excited for you to come back, he's willing to help out in any way he can. We all want you home."

Sandy handed Ryan a piece of carbon paper with "Offender Contract" printed at the top. He skimmed through the rules and regulations until he came to the bottom of the page and saw the loopy script of Sandy's signature, right above Kirsten's small, neat one.

"Why?" he said to Sandy.

"Because you're worth all this," Sandy said impatiently. "All right? Whether you believe it or not. We can make some adjustments for a while, and then in 90 days it'll be over."

Ryan stared at the contract in his hands so he wouldn't have to meet Sandy's eyes. It was ironic, he thought, that Sandy was the person who always tried to get him to talk. Because Sandy had a knack for saying things that were impossible to respond to.

"Okay, kid?"

"Okay," Ryan said, but he didn't look up until Andrew cleared his throat. And even then he couldn't look at Sandy. Andrew looked from Ryan to Sandy, his eyebrows raised.

"If you're ready. . ." he said, and Ryan and Sandy both nodded.

"Then Ryan, please read through the contract carefully. Then we'll need your signature before we can get you fitted for the bracelet. And Sandy, now is a good time to set up a payment plan. We do require a payment of $120 for the first two weeks before we can release Ryan to your custody."

"Of course," Sandy said, and reached for his wallet. Ryan watched with a sinking feeling.

"You didn't tell me this was costing you money," he said.

"We'll talk about it later," Sandy told him.

Andrew was studying them, looking from one to the other.

"Actually," he said, "electronic monitoring is cheaper than what it cost them to keep you in juvenile hall. Less than half the cost."

Sandy frowned and shook his head.

"You had to pay for me there, too?" Ryan said. He hadn't known. He had never thought.

"I said, we'll talk about it later," Sandy said. "I don't want you to worry about it right now. Just read the contract, please."

Ryan sighed and bent over the contract. He already owed the Cohens so much. He read through the contract, trying not to notice as Sandy handed over what looked like a cashier's check. When Ryan was finished reading he scribbled his name above Sandy's and pushed the contract across the desk.

"All right," he said. "I'm ready."

"Okay then," Andrew said. "Sandy, why don't you wait in the hall while I take Ryan next door to get fitted and change his clothes?"

"That reminds me," Sandy said. "Kirsten sent these."

He reached into the plastic bag next to him and handed Ryan a stack of clothes. Ryan took them quickly and shifted them around so his boxer briefs weren't right on top. He was pretty sure he was blushing a little, even though it was stupid. He tucked them under his arm and took the boots Sandy offered.

"These were with the rest of your stuff from juvie," Sandy said. "You don't have very many shoes at home, do you?"

Ryan shrugged. He liked his boots.

Sandy went out to the hall while Ryan followed Andrew to the next room, which looked like some sort of supply closet. He sat down in the chair that Andrew indicated, while Andrew opened a box and took out a bracelet identical to the one he had shown Ryan earlier.

"Which ankle?" he said. "You can choose."

"I don't care," Ryan said.

"Which side do you sleep on?" Andrew said.

"I mostly sleep on my back," Ryan said. "But I guess – sometimes my right side."

"Left ankle it is, then. Why don't you take off your shoe and sock and prop your foot up there?"

Ryan slipped off his left shoe and peeled off the white sock. He'd be glad to get rid of his juvie clothes. He didn't like thinking about how many people had worn them before. There was a little round footstool in front of him, like the kind they had at shoe stores, and he put his bare foot on that. Andrew showed him how there were little wires running all through the band, so that the signal would be disrupted if he tried to cut it off.

"I'm not going to cut it off," Ryan said. "I'm not stupid."

Andrew looked amused. "No, you're not."

At Andrew's request, Ryan hiked up the leg of his jumpsuit. Andrew strapped the bracelet around Ryan's ankle and adjusted it so it fit snugly. Ryan didn't want to watch, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't take his eyes off the bracelet, which, whether he liked it or not, was going to be with him for the next three months. He wiggled his foot, testing it out.

"Stand up," Andrew said. "Walk around. How does it feel?"

Ryan got up and walked around, and just for a second he thought of his mom, and the way he used to clomp around the shoe store in a new pair of sneakers while she watched and then pressed on the toes to make sure they fit.

"It feels heavy," he said.

Andrew nodded. "You'll have that at first. You get used to it."

"I guess it's okay," Ryan said, looking at the floor. "It's not too tight or anything."

"Good," Andrew said. He sat on the edge of a desk and crossed his arms. "Look, Ryan, you do seem like a smart kid. Just keep out of trouble for the next few months and your life can go back to normal, all right?"

Ryan shrugged, but then he nodded.

"You'll be seeing me once a week," Andrew said. "You can let me know if you have problems or concerns. And somebody from the juvenile probation department will be checking up on you a few times a week, to make sure you're where you're supposed to be and that you're doing okay."

Ryan nodded again. He'd read all that in the contract.

"They might come while you're in class, or while you're sleeping," Andrew said. "You should be ready."

"Okay."

"My point is, the probation staff and the EM staff are here to help you if you need it. And your guardians seem like they care a lot about you."

Ryan looked up at Andrew, because he couldn't figure out where this was going.

"You're not alone, Ryan," Andrew said.

"I know," Ryan said automatically. And yeah, of course he wasn't. They were going to be watching him all the time. He couldn't escape it. But when he thought about it, he knew Andrew was wrong. It had been a long time since he had felt so alone.

* * *

There was one moment when Sandy thought things might be all right. When Ryan stepped out of the jail services office with Andrew, he was blinking like he'd just been shaken from a deep sleep. He had already changed into the gray T-shirt and jeans Kirsten had sent from the pool house, and he clutched a clear plastic bag that held the rest of the stuff they'd taken away from him at juvie. Sandy was so relieved to see Ryan wearing something besides a jumpsuit that he forgot his resolve to give the kid some space, and swept forward to pull Ryan into a hug. He was surprised when Ryan leaned into the hug without hesitation, gripping the back of Sandy's suit coat in his fingers, holding on a fraction longer than Sandy would have expected. Ryan smelled like metal and cheap soap and his heart was beating in a furious rhythm that Sandy could feel against his own chest. Then Ryan breathed in, a sharp little inhalation that wasn't quite a gasp, and pulled back, looking embarrassed. His lips were folded and his eyes were on the floor, and he immediately folded his arms over his chest.

"Let's go home," Sandy said, clapping Ryan on the shoulder, trying not to be hurt when Ryan flinched away. This was how he had imagined it, after all: Ryan skittish and silent and determined to keep every part of himself under strict control. The hug had lulled Sandy into a false sense of security, but he had to face facts and realize that nothing about Ryan's homecoming was going to be easy.

"I should have brought you a jacket," Sandy said when they got to the doors.

Ryan shrugged and rummaged through the plastic bag, coming up with the jacket he'd worn the night of his arrest. He slipped it on without ever setting down the plastic bag.

In the car, Ryan looked out the window while Sandy kept his eyes on the road and formed sentences in his head. He wanted, somehow, to let Ryan know that everything was going to work out, that they could be a family again, that his sentence with the bracelet was going to fly by. But everything that came to his mind sounded empty and false. He knew better than to make false promises to Ryan. He knew Seth would make this kind of conversation easy for him, that he'd fidget and make bitter jokes and ask rapid-fire questions to which Sandy could deliver rapid-fire answers. But Ryan was comfortable with silence and stillness and – Sandy glanced at the passenger seat. Ryan was asleep, with his chin on his chest and both arms folded over the plastic bag in his lap.

When Sandy pulled into the driveway, Ryan's arms jerked and his eyes opened wide before he ever raised his head. He stayed perfectly still for a second, then glanced at Sandy and swallowed hard.

"Hey," Sandy said softly. "We made it."

Ryan looked up at the house. He made no motion to remove his seatbelt.

"Can I–" Ryan began, his voice so hoarse that he cleared his throat and started again. "Can I go to the pool house first? Unpack?"

"If that's what you want," Sandy said. "But, Ryan–"

"Please," Ryan said, quietly and quickly like the word was a possession he could barely bring himself to surrender.

"Sure," Sandy said. "Sure, if you need a minute."

Ryan got out of the car before Sandy could say anything else, and disappeared around the side of the house. As Sandy let himself in the front door, he was grateful that Seth was still in school, so he didn't have to go hold him at bay while Ryan collected himself. Seth had been lonely for so long that he didn't seem to understand that solitude was necessary for some people, as tangible and demanding as the needs for food, for water, for sex. If Sandy was being honest, he didn't understand the impulse for solitude, either, though he was familiar with it from years of marriage to Kirsten. He had an impatient respect for it, the way she had an impatient respect for his tendencies to eavesdrop and pry and demand. She never said it, but Sandy knew she thought he loved too much and fell too hard, too quickly. Kirsten knew better. She knew how to protect her heart. She was like Ryan that way.

Kirsten wasn't in the kitchen, or the den, or the dining room. As Sandy climbed the half-flight of stairs to their bedroom, he thought how he'd lost all hope of self-protection where Ryan was concerned. He'd lost it months ago. Definitely by Thanksgiving, when it took all his resolve to let Ryan go back to Chino, even though it was only for a visit. Or, who was he kidding, he'd lost it long before that. He'd lost it when he saw Ryan's self-conscious bow and clumsy, careful dance steps at cotillion. Or when Ryan slumped next to Seth on the couch after his mother left for the second time, and the word "brothers" first flashed in Sandy's mind, even though it was far too soon to think that way. Or maybe it was the moment when Ryan crumpled his mother's note in his fist and turned to face Sandy.

When Sandy entered the master bedroom, he knew that this time Kirsten had failed to guard her heart. Her head was down on the dresser and she was perfectly still, and Sandy realized that it was too late for Kirsten, that she loved Ryan, too.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Seth had left a present for Ryan in the middle of his bed. Or rather several presents, wrapped, stacked in a pyramid and tied in a bright red bow. On top was a scribbled note that labeled the gifts a "Ryan Atwood Welcome Back Pack". Ryan allowed a half-smile and dropped the plastic bag from juvie onto the bed beside the presents.

He'd expected the relief at returning to the Cohens' house to be immediate and intense, but instead all he felt was a familiar rush of claustrophobia, the same sense of being closed in and slightly out of control that he'd experienced so often in his house in Chino. It was home, and it was comfortable, but at any moment that could change. He'd hoped that feeling would never again invade his life in Newport. But something close to panic had clutched at him as soon as he'd opened his eyes and found himself in Sandy's car in front of the house.

Now, still groggy from his unplanned nap, Ryan walked the perimeter of the pool house closing the curtains. It was as much to keep himself from looking out as to keep any of the Cohens from seeing in. He didn't need to torment himself with views of the ocean and the beach below, places he wasn't allowed to go.

The bracelet was heavy around his ankle as he walked, and the band caught on the hairs of his lower calf. He thought he might even be limping a little, so he focused on walking steady, on looking natural. He had a lot of experience at hiding what he didn't want anyone else to know. He'd put it to good use now, because Seth would be home from school soon, and he was going to have to see Kirsten again, and Sandy wouldn't let him hide in here forever, or even for the next 90 days.

He knew he should be grateful, and he was, more grateful than he'd ever be able to explain. But he already hated this confinement. He'd lost so much of his freedom in the past few months—for every gift of security that the Cohens had handed to him, he'd given up an ounce of privacy and independence. There were people to watch him, ask him questions, tell him no. And now he was completely reliant on them.

But he had a comfortable bed and good food and he was safe. That was enough. It would have to be.

When he'd reached the opposite side of the room, Ryan turned around and surveyed the pool house. Even with the drapes closed, the room was washed in light from the afternoon sun that stole through the white curtains. He was fine with that. He liked the natural light, and it calmed him. Ryan slipped off his jacket and hung it beside the door.

He approached the bed again and sat down slowly, then leaned back until his back was flat on the mattress and he was staring at the ceiling. The mattress was firm and the duvet over his down comforter was soft under his fingers. He traced a slow circle on the material and closed his eyes. It felt good to relax again, just a little. To know that the worst was behind him.

Ryan opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, propping his head in his left hand. He was facing Seth's present and debated whether he should open it now or wait. It would be another hour until Seth got back from school, and Ryan didn't have anything better to do, so he tugged at the red bow and untied it. He sat up and unwrapped the gifts one at a time, tearing at the bright blue and red paper. When he was done, he spread the gifts on the bed, lining them up from smallest to largest: two '80s compilation CDs; a paperback copy of _Stranger in a Strange Land_; a DVD of Rebel Without a Cause; a stack of three recent Hustlers; and a box of Frosted Mini Wheats. Other than the Hustlers, it was all stuff that Ryan knew Seth wouldn't touch. In fact, even the Hustlers weren't really Seth's style; he preferred Playboy.

Ryan stacked the gifts and set them on the floor, then crumpled the wrapping paper and ribbon into a tight ball and threw it away. He dumped the clothes he'd been wearing when he was arrested in the laundry pile in his closet. He tucked his watch into a drawer in his bedside table. Then he was done. He was home.

And he had no idea what to do next.

* * *

Kirsten had never been prone to emotional breakdowns, and the very fact that Sandy hadn't made a big deal out of finding her alone and close to tears in the middle of the afternoon proved that he knew what was up. He'd turned his back to her and pretended to look for something on his dresser while she'd composed herself and checked her makeup in the mirror.

She hadn't slept more than a couple hours the night before, and what little sleep she'd managed had been filled with anxious dreams that she couldn't remember, but left her feeling tense and gritty in the morning. Sandy had gone to the office for a few hours before picking up Ryan. Kirsten had intended to flee to the Newport Group offices for the day and, perhaps, well into the evening, but finally decided she'd be better off facing Ryan early, before Seth got home. Kirsten hated confrontations, but she knew this one was inevitable.

So she'd stayed home, working in the dining room where her papers were again spread over the table. She'd tried not to think about how nervous she was about Ryan's homecoming.

When she'd heard Sandy's car pull up their driveway a little after noon, she'd lost what little courage she'd been trying to build all day, and escaped to their bedroom, where Rosa was putting away clean laundry. With a quick wave and a nod Kirsten had dismissed Rosa from the room, and in desperate need of distraction she'd started to fold the laundry herself. But her hands had been shaking and Sandy's socks wouldn't roll into the tight bundles that Rosa always managed, and Kirsten had finally thrown a pair of socks on the bed and fallen into the chair at her dresser, her shoulders slumped as she buried her face in her hands.

That was when Sandy had come in, and she'd recovered quickly. She'd asked where Ryan was, and Sandy had nodded toward the pool house.

"He needs a little space," Sandy had said. "They don't get much of that in juvie."

Kirsten had nodded and returned to the dining room to work.

An hour had passed, and she had yet to see Ryan. Kirsten glanced at the clock and saw that Seth would be home soon. Sandy was working in his home office. If she was going to face Ryan, it would have to be now. She pushed back from the table and went to the kitchen. From the window, she could see all the curtains were closed in the pool house.

Kirsten opened the refrigerator and took out everything she'd need for sandwiches. She wasn't sure if lunch was a delay tactic, but she couldn't knock on the pool house door empty-handed, and Ryan probably hadn't eaten. Then again, neither had Kirsten, and she wasn't at all hungry.

Her musings turned out not to matter at all, because she had just pulled out eight slices of bread when she heard the back door open behind her. Kirsten started and glanced over her shoulder. Ryan stood in the open door. He looked nervous, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to cross the threshold into the kitchen. Kirsten tried to smile at him.

"Hi, Ryan, welcome home," she said, struggling to sound casual, which even she could tell wasn't working. "Come in."

He wavered for a moment, then walked in, turning to carefully close the door. He stopped again and rubbed his wrist, and she noticed he wasn't wearing his watch. Kirsten forced herself not to look down at his ankles and seek out the outline of the bracelet. Instead she turned back to the sandwiches.

"How are you doing?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

When he didn't answer right away, Kirsten looked over at him again. He stood in the same spot, jaw clenched and shoulders rigid. Every part of him seemed tense, ready to spring. She wondered how he'd even worked up the courage to come into the house.

He finally nodded, just slightly. He didn't match her smile and he wouldn't look at her. Kirsten bit her lip.

"I bet you're hungry."

"Not really."

Kirsten closed her eyes briefly before dunking a knife into an economy-sized jar of mustard and raising it toward Ryan with a nervous smile.

"I'm making lunch for everyone," she said. "You like salami and cheese, right?"

Ryan stood very still, and she realized he hadn't walked more than a foot into the kitchen. He seemed to nod his head just slightly, and she began smothering a slice of bread with mustard.

"No," he said, and then added quietly, "But, thanks."

Kirsten swallowed her disappointment and didn't say anything. She knew he was hungry, and she knew he liked salami and cheese just fine. And now she knew that he wasn't going to make this easy, not for any of them. He was going to resist their kindness, just as he had when he'd first arrived at their home, and she couldn't really blame him.

"I'm thirsty. Can I…" She glanced at him and he motioned a hand toward the refrigerator. Asking permission. Kirsten felt the tears threatening again.

"Of course," she said, forcing the informality into her voice. "Please, help yourself."

Ryan shuffled to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of juice, and backed toward the far end of the room again. He didn't sit, and he didn't leave, and Kirsten suspected he had no idea what to do. She didn't think she could tell him what to do either. It felt like a stalemate, and part of her wished he would just go back to the pool house, so they could finish this when they weren't alone.

The bottle of juice made a soft popping sound when Ryan took off the lid, and Kirsten, suddenly ashamed, found a new determination. She was the adult here. She was the one in charge.

"Why don't you sit down, keep me company until Seth gets home," she said. She kept her eyes on the sandwiches, not waiting to see if Ryan would listen. "He didn't want to go to school today. He wanted to be here when you got back. He's been worried about you."

Kirsten glanced at Ryan and saw that his gaze was directed toward the den. She wondered what was going through his head, if he was picturing Seth sitting in there, or the two of them playing video games. He must have felt her watching him, because his eyes twitched in her direction. He looked away and took a long swallow of juice, then screwed the cap back on the bottle.

"We've all been worried," Kirsten said. She set the knife on the counter, rested her palms on the surface. "I know it's pretty bad in there, Ryan. I'm glad…"

She paused, not sure what to say next. Was she glad to have him back in her house? Glad that he was with her family? Glad that he was their responsibility again?

"I'm glad you're safe," she finally finished.

Ryan studied her from the corners of his eyes, and again she couldn't quite tell if he nodded. He was so still, so quiet. So not the boy who had left their house on a Friday night more than a week ago.

"Well, there's nothing to worry about now, right?"

Kirsten was struck by the bitterness in his voice. An image flashed in her mind of his mom, and that awful dinner so long ago. It was the first time she'd seen him angry, and she'd felt useless to him that night, unable to do anything other than watch him fall apart. She didn't feel much better now. Certainly a salami sandwich and a bottle of cranberry juice wasn't going to be enough.

The front door banged shut and seconds later Seth appeared in the kitchen doorway. Kirsten felt an immediate rush of relief, and then shame. Without looking at Kirsten, Seth crossed the kitchen in several long strides and pulled Ryan into an aggressive embrace. Ryan didn't react immediately, but when Seth didn't let go right away Ryan thumped him on the back several times. The boys parted and Seth smiled awkwardly.

"I'm so glad you're home, buddy," Seth said. "And I'm so, so sorry. About everything."

Ryan offered a weak smile and ducked his head.

"Yeah, so, okay, we're cool, right?" Seth said. "I mean, you're good? You're okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan said.

"Yeah, good." Seth rocked on his feet, and it hurt to see him so uncomfortable, trying so hard. "So, what do you want to do? A little PlayStation?"

"Seth," Kirsten said. "You're grounded."

"Mom," Seth started, but Kirsten shook her head. Seth stared at her in disbelief, clearly stunned that she wasn't going to give in. He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let's just go to my room. We can talk. Or, you know, I can talk. You can listen."

"Are you hungry?" Kirsten asked. "I'm making sandwiches. We're eating late tonight."

"I had a big lunch," Seth said, although she knew he really just wanted to get away from her. Seth nudged Ryan with his shoulder, and the boys left for his bedroom.

Kirsten took a deep breath when they were gone. She slowly put away all of the food, tucking the salami into the crisp white butcher paper, scraping the knife against the jar to swipe off the excess mustard. She didn't know how to fix any of this. She didn't even know where to begin.

* * *

After dinner, Ryan was dozing in the darkened pool house when the door opened suddenly. He drew in a sharp breath and sat up before he was fully awake, blinking in the dim light. For a second he had no idea where he was, but it all came back to him quickly enough when he saw Marissa standing over by the door.

He leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp, and she raised a hand to her eyes.

"Hey," he said. "You scared me."

She perched on the end of the bed, hunching a little and crossing her arms.

"You didn't call me. I didn't even know you were home."

Ryan drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. How to explain that he hadn't even considered calling? That she had only entered his mind fleetingly in the hours since he had returned? It was better not to explain any of that.

"I'm sorry, I – I'm just really tired," he said. That was the truth, at least.

Marissa bit her lip and looked down at the floor.

"I don't even know if I'm allowed to call anybody," he said. "I guess I'm grounded. I mean, more than grounded, I–"

"I know," she said softly. "Seth called me last night."

That made him feel even worse, that Seth had thought to call and he hadn't.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He had to force the words out. He hoped she wouldn't ask for explanations or justifications. He didn't really want to talk. About anything.

She pursed her lips, but then she nodded and he saw her deciding to accept it. She crawled up on the bed next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair absently, working out the tangles with his fingers.

"I missed you," she said, and leaned in to kiss him. That was good, because he didn't have to answer. He closed his eyes and kissed her back. She tasted like mint and cherry lip gloss. It was one of the things he had always loved about her, that she seemed so _clean_, the way flowers and fruit were clean. She never tasted like cigarettes or smelled of cheap foundation like other girls he had known. Sometimes he dropped light kisses down her bare shoulders and thought of plums and nectarines and cherries: smooth-skinned fruits that smelled sweet. Sometimes it made him sad, because flowers and fruit never lasted. Something would happen that she couldn't pretend away, something she couldn't forget no matter how much she drank and no matter how far she ran.

"Ryan?" Marissa whispered. It was funny; if they were in public and just talking, she never noticed when he forgot to listen to her bright chatter and just watched her. But when they were alone, or touching, she always knew when he slipped away.

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking?"

"About you," he said, because it was true and because it would please her.

She bit down on the corner of her lip. She was trying not to smile.

"What about me?"

"You smell like flowers," he said, and it was close enough.

He lay back on the pillows and she crawled on top of him. She kissed his mouth and his jaw and the space where his jaw met his ear, and he slid his hands under her shirt and felt a little bit of happiness creeping back in. He remembered a time when he and Trey had gotten drunk on cheap whiskey, sitting at the kitchen table after their mom had gone to sleep, and talking about girls. Trey had raised his glass and announced, "We fuck to forget!" which made them laugh hysterically at the time, putting their heads on the down on the table. But maybe it was true. The events of the last 11 days were slipping to the back of his mind instead of crowding at the front, and that was good.

Then Marissa's foot brushed over his ankle and she jerked as though she'd been burned and sat up. He sat up, too, pulling his knees to his chest again. She was looking at him nervously.

"Was that the–" she said.

"Yeah," he said.

Her eyes drifted to his ankle and she took his hand, squeezing a little too hard.

"Can I see it? The . . .bracelet?"

Ryan looked down at the bed, at the rumpled sheets, then back at her.

"Why?"

Her shoulders twitched up in a tiny shrug, and she met his eyes.

"You don't have to hide it from me," she said. "I thought we didn't keep secrets from each other."

He sighed and patted her hand. He had no idea how she could think that was true.

"Okay," he said. "But then you should go, because you're not even supposed to be in here, I don't think. Sandy and Kirsten are supposed to screen my visitors."

"Even me?"

"Yeah," he said. "Everybody."

Marissa nodded, and he pulled up the leg of his sweatpants. She stared at his ankle, and he watched her face, watched the expressions flickering across it: trepidation and curiosity and repulsion. She ran her fingers lightly over the transmitter and skimmed his leg hairs, making him shiver.

"Don't," he said, jerking his ankle away.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down. "I'll go."

She kissed him on the cheek and slid off the bed, gathering her purse and her jacket from the chair near the door.

"You'll be in school tomorrow?" she said.

He nodded.

"Bye," she said, her voice faint, and closed the door before he could even answer.

Marissa wasn't stupid, he realized. She knew he guarded his secrets, knew there were a thousand tiny things he had never told her. She just wasn't very good at figuring them out. He was better at guessing hers, or parts of them. He knew which parts of her body she hated by the way she stiffened when he ran his hands over them. He didn't know who had made her feel that way. He knew all of Marissa's underwear came in matched sets. He knew he'd never seen her wear the same ones twice. She had pink stripes and bright blue and plain black, cotton and silk and lace. He imagined it was some kind of secret goal of hers, to never wear the same set twice in front of him. He didn't know why.

He knew, now, that she wished that she had never asked to see the bracelet. That was a secret she couldn't keep from him, how scared she was, disgusted, even. He didn't know if she'd be able to move beyond it, if they'd last the three months or if she would decide it was too much. He didn't have much hope, not after seeing her face.

He lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Seth woke up before dawn with a terrible pain in his chest. He groaned and buried his face in his pillow, which did nothing to alleviate his discomfort. He pushed up off the bed and looked down—Captain Oats was crushed against his chest. No wonder he hurt. Seth plucked the plastic horse out from under him and set it on the pillow beside his head.

In the past week, without Ryan around to listen to the near constant stream of thoughts and ideas that bounced around in his head, Seth had turned to Captain Oats for support. With the lights off and the blankets drawn up to his chin, Seth had, on more than one occasion, spoken in whispers to Captain Oats, sharing his thoughts out loud much like other people might write in a journal. Seth wasn't a writer. He was a talker.

Now that Ryan was back, he hoped he wouldn't need Captain Oats as much anymore.

"Sorry, buddy," Seth said softly to the horse, petting it once on the back. "Ryan's a little more responsive than you are. Not much, but a little."

Captain Oats didn't look particularly offended.

Seth rolled onto his back, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest, and glanced at his alarm clock. He didn't need to get up for another hour or so, but he doubted he'd be able to get much more sleep. He stretched, then tumbled out of bed and toward the door. His stomach was already grumbling so he decided on breakfast first, before his shower.

The kitchen was, not surprisingly, empty. Seth grabbed a bowl and spoon, tucked a box of cereal under his arm, and took the milk out of the refrigerator. He was on his way to the den, where he hoped to grab a few minutes of PlayStation time before his mom got up and started lecturing again, when he realized he wasn't alone.

"Hey," he said, stopping on the edge of the den and staring at Ryan.

Ryan didn't say anything, just glanced at Seth and nodded. He sat on the far corner of the couch, already dressed for school, with a mug of coffee cradled in both hands. Seth wondered why he hadn't noticed the smell of fresh coffee when he'd first walked into the kitchen.

Seth was still frozen at the opposite end of the room, entirely uncertain what to do. To say things were awkward with Ryan, now that he was back from juvie, was a vast understatement.

His first thought, upon walking into the kitchen the day before, was that Ryan's face had changed. It looked different. Harder. It was more noticeable in the warm glow of the kitchen than it had been under the bleached light of the visiting room in juvie. His posture was stiff. He'd looked uncomfortable, and even a little dazed, but Seth thought the change ran deeper than momentary uneasiness. The tension between Ryan and Seth's mom was immediately apparent, but Seth had expected that.

What he hadn't expected, though, was that the tension never went away, at all. Ryan had followed Seth to his room, and he'd thanked him, quietly, for the welcome home gifts. And then he'd stood there, silent, near the door to Seth's bedroom. Seth was used to the quiet, from Ryan. Of course, because Ryan was always quiet. It was his thing, or one of his things. But usually when he came into Seth's room he made himself at home, sprawled on the bed and flipped through comic books or sat at Seth's computer and read The Onion. Now, it was like he needed an invitation. But when Seth had invited him in, Ryan had just shrugged, shifting his weight against the door frame.

Then Seth had gone to his stereo to turn on some music, to find anything to break the silence, and when he'd looked back, Ryan had disappeared.

Later, at dinner, Ryan had said exactly two words—"no, thanks"—and that was without Seth's mom around to make the meal especially uncomfortable. It had been just the Cohen men for dinner, Seth's mom having gone to the office shortly after he got home from school. Once Seth and his dad figured out that Ryan wouldn't talk, at all, they'd stopped talking too. Whether that was out of deference to Ryan, or simply because their voices sounded strange floating over Ryan's head, Seth couldn't have said. It had just been uncomfortable, and weird.

But he was determined to make things right again.

"Mind if I, uh…" Seth waved the hand with the milk in it toward the couch. Again, Ryan didn't say anything, but he pushed himself just slightly further into his corner of the couch, and Seth took that as the best welcome he was going to get. He dropped onto the other end of the couch and poured a bowl of cereal, then topped it off with so much milk that the sugary flakes danced precariously close to the rim.

They sat in near-silence for several long minutes, the only sound Seth chewing his cereal, which came out especially loud and made him so self conscious that he barely ate half the bowl before giving up. He dropped his spoon and picked up the remote control, snapping on the TV. He flipped through the stations before settling on Bonanza. It was a favorite of his grandpa's. Seth sat back on the couch and tried to come up with something easy and casual and normal to say to Ryan. Or just, anything.

"What are you guys doing up so early?"

Seth glanced with relief toward his dad in the kitchen. His dad would know what to say, how to break the tension. He poured a mug of coffee, and a moment later Seth's mom joined him at the counter. Everyone was up early this morning. Seth found that realization less than comforting.

"I was hungry," Seth said. Ryan didn't answer the question.

"Well, since we're all up, how about I make some real breakfast? Eggs? Bacon?" Seth's dad started gathering supplies from around the kitchen, banging pots and pans around and piling food on the counter. "Ryan, how do you want your eggs?"

"I'm not hungry," Ryan said. His voice was scratchy.

"C'mon, it's your first day back at school," his dad said. "You need more than a belly full of coffee to get you through the morning."

Ryan didn't say anything, just looked into his mug and took another sip of coffee. Seth's dad shrugged and busied himself in the kitchen again. His mom leaned against the counter, a cup of coffee in one hand, the other hand rubbing her neck. She was doing that a lot lately.

"Why don't you get ready for school, Seth," she said. "You can have breakfast when you're dressed."

"Yeah, all right," he said, even though he'd already eaten, and Ryan knew it. Seth just wanted to get away, and he felt guilty about that, but maybe in the shower he'd be able to compose his thoughts and come up with something to say. He'd find a way to get Ryan back.

Seth stood and picked up his bowl and the milk, leaving the cereal on the coffee table. He'd turned halfway around to leave when a thought occurred to him.

"Hey," he said, "what are you doing after school? Tickets go on sale this afternoon for the Shins, and I'm only grounded for like another two weeks, so we can totally go to the show next month."

Ryan stared at Seth, and his face was hard, like he was hurt or angry.

"Seth…" his mom said from the kitchen, her voice stiff.

"I can't," Ryan said.

"Wha-" Seth stopped before finishing the question. "Shit. Dude, I'm so sorry, I forgot."

He felt like the most inconsiderate moron in the world. Ryan wouldn't be going to concerts any time soon. Hell, he wouldn't even be allowed to leave the house to buy concert tickets—or ride on the pier, or browse at the music store, or hang out at the Crab Shack—any time soon. School and this house. That was it.

Ryan didn't say anything, but he got up from the couch and carried his mug into the kitchen. He set the cup on the counter and without a word or a glance at any of the Cohens, he left through the back door. Seth wanted to crawl under the coffee table and hide. Maybe cry a little.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," his dad said from the kitchen. "It's going to take some time for him to adjust. For all of us to adjust."

Seth nodded and stared out the back door, at the closed blinds of the pool house. He hated adjusting.

He needed a nice long chat with Captain Oats.

* * *

Sandy drove Ryan and Seth to school, and on the short ride Ryan tried to enjoy his last few minutes of relative isolation. He was certain everyone at Harbor knew about what had happened to him by now. He'd never been popular, but he didn't care about that. He was used to being known as the kid from Chino who'd been taken off the streets and given a better life than he probably deserved. But now he would be the kid who was so messed up that he couldn't stay out of juvie, who had to be monitored 24 hours, escorted to school, locked up at home. They'd all be watching him.

"You're meeting Dr. Kim first thing," Sandy reminded him as he pulled up to the front of the school.

Ryan nodded and opened the back door.

"Want me to come with you?" Sandy asked. Ryan met his gaze briefly in the rearview mirror and shook his head. "All right. I'll pick you up at three."

Ryan stood with Seth on the sidewalk, squinting up at the school. Classes would be starting in just a few minutes, and students were flooding the walkways, pushing and laughing their way onto campus. None of them seemed to pay him any attention, and Ryan hoped it would last. He knew it wouldn't. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulders.

He was dreading this meeting with Dr. Kim. He knew he was still allowed to attend Harbor, hadn't been expelled or even suspended, but that didn't mean Dr. Kim hadn't tried to kick him out. He didn't know what to expect from her.

The first bell rang. Ryan's stomach clenched and he wished he hadn't finished three mugs of coffee before leaving. But he'd missed the stuff so much in juvie.

"We should probably get going," Seth said. "I know you and Dr. Kim are tight, but she's got that thing about tardiness."

Ryan took a deep breath, and followed Seth onto the campus. In the main quad Seth slapped him lightly on the shoulder and wished him luck, and they split up. Ryan walked quickly across the quad, aware with every step of the bracelet chafing on his ankle. It felt enormous, like one of Seth's Game Boys was taped to his leg, and he kept glancing at his feet to see if it the bulge of it was visible through the bottom of his jeans.

The receptionist in the front office recognized Ryan immediately and nodded her head toward the dean's office. Ryan was relieved he wouldn't have to wait for the meeting. He paused at Dr. Kim's open door and leaned in to knock once.

"Ryan, come in," she said. "Close the door, please."

Ryan shut the door carefully and stopped, waiting for Dr. Kim to finish whatever she was doing. She had her head down at her desk, and seemed to be working through a stack of papers, signing the bottom of each one.

"Have a seat," she said, looking up at him and motioning toward the two tall chairs that stood in front of her desk. He sat and watched her hands as she continued signing papers, until finally she set them aside and directed all of her attention at him. He held his backpack in his lap, gripping the strap in both hands.

Dr. Kim folded her hands on her desk and regarded him. He didn't fidget under her gaze, but he didn't look at her either.

"I assume you know why I wanted to meet with you this morning," she said. "A lot has changed for you over the past week. I spoke with the Cohens about your future here at the Harbor School, and we agreed that it would be best for everyone for you continue your studies here."

Her tone made it clear that she was an unwilling partner in the agreement, and he tried to imagine Sandy fighting to keep him enrolled. Ryan wondered if they'd ever had a kid under electronic monitoring at this school.

"But given your new probationary status, there will have to be some changes, of course," she said. "You will not be able to participate in any extracurricular activities that require after school participation, which means you are off the soccer team. Starting today, you will have a regular gym class instead of study hall."

Ryan should have expected that he'd lose soccer, but he hadn't thought that far ahead. At least it meant he wouldn't have to face the other boys on the team, and the forced detachment from school activities came as somewhat of a relief. The less he was invested, the less he had to lose.

He didn't say anything to Dr. Kim, kept himself from reacting at all, so she went on.

"You will be expected to obey every single school rule, to the letter," she said. "That means no fights, at all. No tardiness, no missed homework, no trouble in the classroom. Detention isn't an option, Ryan. If you're so much as one minute late to homeroom, you face expulsion."

Ryan wondered if she thought the idea of being expelled scared him. It didn't. He would gladly leave Harbor and return to public school. He'd follow Dr. Kim's rules, because that was what the Cohens expected of him, and he owed them that much. But he wasn't afraid. A little intimidated, maybe, but not afraid.

"The Harbor School expects a lot from its students, Ryan," Dr. Kim said, and he sensed she was delivering a veiled threat to him now, something more ominous than just telling him he had to behave himself and finish all his homework. "We expect our students to be productive members of their community, good citizens and decent human beings. There isn't a lot of patience here for students who defy our high standards of ethics. If any of the teachers at Harbor suspects that you are having trouble understanding those moral codes, they will let me know. We'll all be keeping an eye on you."

Ryan wanted to laugh at Dr. Kim's "high standards of ethics"—he knew she wasn't dumb, and that she was probably well aware of the sex and drugs and drinking that blanketed her campus—but he kept his face blank. She was looking for an excuse to kick him out. He got it. He wondered if he'd last the week.

"Do you understand, Ryan?"

He caught her eye, nodded once, and looked away again. She frowned and picked up the stack of papers, shaking them into a neat pile in her hands. She was done with him. He stood up.

"All right then, you may go," she said.

Ryan swung his backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the door.

"Ryan," she said, and he glanced back at her. "Don't forget to get a note from the receptionist. We don't want you to get written up for being late on your first day back."

He clenched his jaw and left the office. The day was only going to get worse from here.

* * *

Seth stood in front of his gym locker in the corner of the locker room, searching for a clean shirt. He had to start remembering to take his shirt home to wash. He thought maybe the reason he always forgot was that he blocked gym class from his mind the second it ended. He hated the sweat and the smells and the jogging. Mostly, he hated the locker room. He had too many memories of his clothes being stolen, and his shoes getting peed in, and other stuff that hadn't happened much this year, since word had spread that Ryan had his back. It still wasn't Seth's favorite place, and he still changed his clothes as quickly as possible.

He found a clean, though slightly wrinkled T-shirt, and had just poked his head through the neck hole when he saw Ryan standing next to him, holding a pile of gym clothes and looking nervous.

"Hey, man," Seth said. "I thought you had study hall."

Ryan shook his head.

"What happened to soccer?" Seth said. Then he caught the look on Ryan's face and realized. Soccer was after school. "Oh."

Ryan glanced around the room, then leaned close to Seth and said, "I can't wear this."

He held out the black shorts and maroon Harbor T-shirt.

"I know it's not exactly high fashion, but this is gym class," Seth said. "I mean, it's not that much different than your soccer uniform."

Ryan sighed, and Seth got it.

"Oh," he said. "The shorts. Yeah."

"They're going to _see_."

Seth patted Ryan on the shoulder. "It's not like they don't already know, dude. People have been talking about it all week."

Ryan looked like someone had slapped him. Seth felt terrible.

"I just meant they probably won't ask questions," he said quietly. "And I mean – they're going to forget about it soon. Somebody will OD or come out and everyone will forget about you. About us, I mean. Because I got arrested, too, and that was a pretty big deal – Seth Cohen in jail. You know?"

But Ryan wasn't biting. He just kept staring at the floor.

"You have to wear the uniform, Ryan," Seth said, getting a little desperate. "And you have to put it on, now, because Coach Bartlett gets pissed if we're late, and you're in enough trouble already."

Ryan looked up at that, and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. He nodded and bent to take off his shoes. Seth went around to Ryan's other side, to block him from the view of the other guys, and maybe give him a little privacy. Ryan's foot was propped up on the bench, and it was sort of weird to see him wearing a pair of Seth's own Pumas, but they'd discovered that the bracelet didn't fit inside Ryan's boots all that well, and the only other shoes he had at home were dress shoes and soccer cleats. Seth thought his mom would probably go out after work and buy Ryan a new pair of shoes that he wouldn't even want, just because she felt so bad about everything.

"Here," Seth said, when Ryan was dressed, handing him his white athletic socks. "Just pull them up over that thing. That's what you do when you play soccer, right?"

Ryan gave Seth a hard look, but he pulled the socks up as high as he could. The outline of the black bracelet was still clearly visible on his ankle, but at least it was somewhat hidden.

"Ready?" Seth said, and he led the way out of the locker room and into the gym. They were on the late side, but Coach Bartlett was just coming out of his office, so they were safe. They joined the other kids under a basketball hoop, and a lot of them were sneaking glances at Ryan's ankle. Ryan's face was set and blank, but he was nervously rubbing the stripes running down the sides of his nylon shorts.

"All right," Coach Bartlett said, "last week was the last day of our square-dancing unit, so today we're moving on to something else."

There were mock-groans from the other kids, and Seth nudged Ryan. It could have been worse.

"Archery," the coach announced. "Think you kids can handle that?"

He looked around the room with a mixture of contempt and amusement that was familiar to Seth, who'd been on the receiving end of it too many times. It was the look that very athletic adults reserved for kids who were too scrawny, or too clumsy, or too fat, a look that suggested that since they weren't successful in gym class, they'd never make it in life either.

Then Coach Bartlett noticed Ryan. "You transfer to this class?"

Ryan nodded.

"What's your name?"

"It's Ryan Atwood," Seth said. The coach gave him a funny look and squinted at Ryan.

"Soccer?" he said.

"Not anymore," Ryan said, his voice tight.

Coach Bartlett raised his eyebrows, but didn't ask.

"Let's head outside, kids."

They all started jogging toward the door, because Coach Bartlett made them jog everywhere. Seth kept close to Ryan, who jogged with his head bent down and both hands closed in tight fists. They both went slowly enough that they ended up at the back of the group. Which was good, because that way the other kids couldn't stare at Ryan. But the coach wound up next to them, and _he_ was staring at Ryan's ankle, and he shouted, "Atwood!" in a voice loud enough to make most of the class stop running and turn around.

Ryan stopped, too, and looked at the coach warily.

"What do you have there in your sock?"

Ryan's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, then shut it and swallowed hard.

"Nothing," he said softly, and Seth groaned inwardly. There wasn't a teacher on the planet who would accept _that_ answer.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Coach Bartlett said. "Looks like a pack of cigarettes, but I can not for the life of me imagine why you would bring that to gym class."

"He doesn't even smoke," Seth said. The whole class had stopped now, and turned around. Seth thought most of them knew exactly what was in Ryan's sock, but no one was going to admit it. They'd take what entertainment they could get, in the middle of a boring school day.

"Was I talking to you, Cohen?" the coach said. Seth felt the heat rise to his cheeks, and he gulped. He'd always been unreasonably intimidated by his gym teachers. They were like Luke used to be, only adults and therefore more dangerous.

"Atwood, whatever it is, you shouldn't have it in class. Hand it over."

"Can I please talk to you?" Ryan said. He seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. "Alone?"

"I have a class to run," the coach said. The bastard looked like he was enjoying this. He was probably as bored as the students. "And if you keep disrupting it, you're going to land yourself in detention."

Ryan's shoulders slumped, and his head went down, and he looked as if a giant hand was pressing on him from above. He got down in a crouch on the floor, and Seth was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who could see how badly Ryan was shaking—not just his hands but his whole body. He unrolled the sock and looked up at the coach, and Seth wanted to go stand in front of him again, because Ryan actually looked close to tears.

The coach looked confused. "Is that some kind of jewelry?" and that was when Seth finally snapped out of his fear-induced paralysis and went up to the coach.

"It's electronic monitoring," Seth said, as quietly as he could, so the rest of the class wouldn't hear. His voice was shaking, but he was pretty sure it was from anger, not fear. He couldn't remember ever being so furious. "Home detention. Dr. Kim said she'd let all the teachers know."

The coach pressed his lips together and nodded, and it was the first time Seth had seen him look like he felt bad about anything.

"No one told me," he said. "Atwood, it's okay. Pull up your sock."

He raised his voice to include the whole class.

"People, outside! What are you waiting for?"

The other kids turned around and started jogging away. Seth went to Ryan, who had pulled up his sock, but was still sitting on the floor, staring straight ahead. Seth offered a hand to help him up, but Ryan just sat there for a moment, hugging his own knee, before he slowly uncurled himself and stood up on his own.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The variety of men's shoes for sale at South Coast Plaza was staggering. Kirsten considered herself something of an expert in women's shoes, and she actually liked shopping for shirts and pants and other clothes for Ryan and Seth. But footwear for teenaged boys was something completely out of her league, she realized. Kirsten was glad Seth was old enough to buy his own shoes now.

She was on her third or fourth lap around the Journeys shoe outlet—the fourth store she'd been to that afternoon—and making herself a little dizzy. It wasn't a particularly big store, but it was packed with shoes. Kirsten stopped and reached out for a pair of black Converse.

"Mom. No."

Kirsten sighed and rolled her eyes, but she left the shoe alone.

"You could help, you know," she said, and turned to look at him. He was slouched in a chair, his long legs stretched in front of him and his arms crossed over his chest. He shook his head at her and she noticed how long his hair was getting. He hadn't wanted to go shopping with her to buy new shoes for Ryan, and he'd made that clear to her every second of their excursion, sighing and fidgeting until she wanted to shake him.

She wished now that she hadn't forced him to come. She had wanted to spend some time alone with him, to try to repair some of the damage that had been done in the past couple of weeks. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity. Seth had to stay late at school on Wednesdays for the literary magazine anyway, so Sandy had retrieved Ryan as soon as classes let out, and Kirsten had picked up Seth. It was a chance for them to talk, and a chance for them to do something for Ryan. Since Ryan had moved in with them she had often shopped for him, sneaking new jeans and button-down shirts onto the pool house shelves when he was out. He rarely thanked her outright, but he made a point of wearing the new clothes right away, and he'd smile at her shyly over breakfast the next day.

Just now new shoes were the only form of kindness she could imagine Ryan accepting from her, if he accepted anything from her at all. She knew he could be rigid about things, and she suspected he was capable of holding a grudge. Seth, on the other hand, usually had a hard time staying angry at anyone. She knew he was still upset with her, but she also knew that he was probably as unhappy with their strained relationship as she was.

But he wasn't cooperating with her now, and she thought that maybe this time she'd misread Seth. Maybe he wasn't ready to forgive her.

Kirsten finished one more circuit around the store, plucking shoes off the display shelves as she went. Her arms full of shoes—sneakers and loafers and sandals, but no boots—Kirsten approached the salesman at the back of the store and dumped them on the counter next to the register.

"Can you get me these in a nine?"

The wide-eyed salesman nodded and struggled to pick up all of the shoes at once, dropping several of them on the ground as he carried them back to the inventory room. Kirsten went back to Seth and dropped in the chair next to him. Kirsten wanted to take off her own shoes and rub her feet, and she realized she probably needed to exercise more if her feet were sore after only an hour walking around the mall.

"What are we doing here?" Seth asked. Kristen studied him a moment before answering. He was picking at his T-shirt, rubbing the cotton between his fingertips.

"We're buying shoes for Ryan," she said, fully aware that wasn't the question he was asking. He scowled at the floor.

"You could've come alone. Why am I here?"

Kirsten twisted in her seat so that she was facing him. "I wanted to spend some time with you. Is there anything wrong with that?"

"We live together. You can spend time with me whenever you want."

"Not when you've been avoiding me."

"I haven't been avoiding you," Seth muttered.

"Seth, I think Rosa's said more to me this week than you have."

"Yeah, well, you didn't send Rosa's best friend to jail."

Kirsten sighed and closed her eyes.

"You know that's not fair," she said.

"Um, no, what's not fair is that I'm at the mall shopping for shoes and Ryan's not even allowed to leave the house," Seth said. "What's not fair is that Ryan even needs new shoes in the first place. He's got boots—boots that he loves, by the way—but oh, hey, wait—he can't wear them! That's what's not fair."

Seth was breathing hard by the time his rant was over, and Kirsten sat back and watched him, waiting for him to calm down.

"Seth-" she started.

"Forget about it," he said.

"No," Kirsten said, loud enough that two shoppers waiting at the cash register turned and stared. Kirsten leaned toward Seth and lowered her voice. "Enough of this silent treatment. I'm fed up with it."

Seth matched her glare for a moment then dropped his head. He ran both hands through his hair and sagged in his chair.

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

She was only a little surprised at the change in his demeanor. Seth just couldn't sustain anger for long. But he sounded so let down, so depressed, that Kirsten suddenly wanted to give up and go home. Seth's feet were only a size or two larger than Ryan's; he could go another day wearing borrowed shoes. But Kirsten felt immediately guilty for even thinking that way, and she glanced toward the back of the store to look for the salesman.

"It's just," Seth started, and Kirsten turned back to him again, "I totally let him down that night. I was the one who wanted to go out and do something stupid. Ryan just wanted to stay home and study, but I wouldn't let him. And look what happened."

Kirsten didn't know what to say. Seth had barely spoken to her in more than a week, and she'd assumed he was just angry with her, that his silence had been his payback for the way she'd treated Ryan. That was partly true, she realized. But all this time he'd felt guilty. And she hadn't even seen it.

"I mean, I know we're not brothers," Seth went on, "but it feels that way sometimes, and what kind of a guy gets his brother arrested? Okay, Ryan's real brother is that kind of guy, but I never thought I could betray a friend like that."

"Seth, I'm sure Ryan doesn't blame you."

"He should," Seth said. "And anyway, how do you know that? He's hardly speaking to any of us."

"You didn't force Ryan to do anything," Kirsten said. "He knew the conditions of his probation. He knew what he was risking."

"Yeah, but so did I," Seth said. He shook his head and rolled his hands into fists on his knees.

Kirsten took a deep breath and watched her son carefully. He kicked at a shoehorn lying on the floor, and she thought she hadn't seen him this miserable in a long time. But in recognizing how upset he was now, it occurred to her just how happy Seth had been over the past several months. Part of it was normal growing up: maturing and feeling more confident in the person he was becoming. But part of it, she knew, was Ryan.

"You're right," she said. "You're not Ryan's brother. And I'm not his mother."

Seth gave her a sharp look. "Mom-"

"But we're still his family," Kirsten went on. "And we let him down."

"You never would have let me down like that. You know that."

Kirsten sighed and clasped her hands together in her lap. She nodded.

"You guys let me down too," she said. "The point is that we deal with it. Together. I have to fix things with Ryan, and with you, but I can't do it if you won't let me."

Seth studied her for a long moment, and then he shrugged and gave her a weak smile. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," she said. "Not yet. But I'll take it anyway."

Kirsten reached over and pulled Seth to her with one arm around his shoulders, and he let himself be held for a few seconds before drawing back.

"Ma'am?"

Kirsten let go of Seth and looked up to see two salesmen, their arms loaded with shoeboxes.

"How many did you have in his size?" she asked.

"All of them."

"Great. I'll take them."

The first salesman quirked an eyebrow at her.

"You want to buy all of these?"

"Yes," Kirsten said, standing and opening her purse as she headed toward the cash register.

"Mom, I'm sure Ryan would be fine with a pair of Nikes or something," Seth said, following behind her.

"You're probably right," she said. "But I want him to have some choices."

Seth nodded and leaned against the counter beside her. When she looked down to fish her wallet out of her purse, he put an arm around her and hugged her briefly.

"How are you ever going to carry all those?" he asked.

"We can manage."

"We? Mom, please. You know I don't do heavy lifting. Or, really, any lifting at all."

"Not even for your brother?" she said. She was immediately fearful that Seth wouldn't appreciate the teasing.

But Seth smiled and reached into her purse, grabbing her car keys.

"Not even for him."

* * *

Sandy let out a long, defeated sigh as he studied the takeout menus spread on the counter in front of him. All he wanted to do was treat Ryan to a welcome home dinner, and Sandy realized he had no idea what to order. Six months he'd lived with Ryan, and he couldn't say what his favorite food was. Hell, he couldn't even say what general type of food the kid preferred—Mexican? Thai? Greek? probably not Chinese—never mind what restaurant was his favorite. He didn't even know what Ryan liked on his pizza.

And maybe he'd never know, if Ryan continued his self-imposed isolation from the family. Sandy suspected it would be a battle just to get Ryan to eat dinner with them tonight. He'd barely said three or four sentences in the 24 hours since he'd come back home.

That shouldn't have been a surprise, though. Ryan had never been much of a talker, and Sandy knew what kind of hell he'd faced in juvie. So the kid needed a few days to adjust. Sandy could give him that.

The back door swung open and Sandy glanced up to see Ryan pause in the doorway. He was barefoot, carrying a pair of sneakers.

"Hey, kid," Sandy said, forcing himself to sound casual. "I'm glad you're here. What sounds good for dinner?"

Ryan glanced quickly at him and shrugged.

Sandy didn't let Ryan's apparent disinterest get to him. "I was thinking we'd celebrate a little, now that you're back home. Kirsten will be home in half an hour. There's nothing in particular you want?" He waved at the multi-colored menus.

Ryan made a sound that might have been "nah" but was too soft for Sandy to make out. Then he crossed the room, heading out of the kitchen and toward the front of the house.

"Where are you going?"

Ryan, his back to Sandy, stiffened at the question, and Sandy immediately regretted his words. Ryan wasn't stupid. He knew better than to leave the house. Ryan swung around and held up the shoes in his hand. His voice was flat when he spoke.

"Giving these back to Seth. Is that okay?"

Sandy nodded. "Yeah, of course."

Ryan disappeared around the corner and Sandy wanted to bang his head against the wall. Instead he picked up the phone and ordered Mexican—tacos, enchiladas, tamales—a little bit of everything, so Ryan could have his favorite, whatever that was.

* * *

Sandy was in his office when he heard Kirsten's car pull up the driveway. He was a little surprised she'd come home on time. After her disappearance the night before, he'd half expected her to avoid dinner again. But she actually seemed to be in a good mood when she peeked into his office on the way to their bedroom. He smiled at her, and she walked in and leaned over his desk to kiss him.

"Good day?" he asked.

"No, not really," she said. "I'm just glad to be home."

He didn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "You are?"

She nodded, and he realized it had been a long time since he had seen her so relaxed. She was even smiling a little.

"I ordered dinner," he said.

"Good. I'm starving."

Sandy watched her for a moment, trying to decipher this change of mood. Ever since Ryan and Seth had been arrested, she'd been distant. He'd been well aware that she was feeling guilt on top of her anger and frustration at what the boys had done, but he hadn't known what to do about it. Now it seemed like she'd figured it out on her own. Sandy had seen her do it before. Kirsten didn't like leaning on anyone, sometimes even her own family, for emotional support. And it occurred to him that he hadn't really been there for her anyway.

She stood up, but he grabbed her wrist before she could walk away, and pulled her toward the desk again. He kissed her and ran his free hand through her hair.

"Love you," he said.

She touched his face. "Love you too."

The food arrived a few minutes later, and Sandy was just setting the table when Seth came downstairs and offered to get Ryan from the pool house. Everyone was quiet as they sat around the table, and Sandy watched Ryan carefully as he loaded his plate with three tacos—one chicken, one carnitas, and one carne asada. Sandy actually laughed out loud. Maybe Ryan really didn't have any favorites.

"What's so funny?" Kirsten asked, as everyone turned to look at him.

"Nothing," Sandy said, shaking his head and piling rice onto his own plate. "So, first day back. How was it?"

Sandy had directed the question to Ryan, but he didn't answer or even look up from his plate. Instead he took an especially large bite of a taco, and Sandy had to admire his technique—Ryan wasn't about to be rude and talk with his mouth full.

"It was great, Dad," Seth said. "It's not like any of the kids at school, or, you know, the teachers, care at all about Ryan and me being arrested. It's not, like, the best gossip since Luke's dad came out. Everyone's treating us just like normal, really."

Kirsten set her fork on her plate and looked seriously at Seth. "Are they giving you guys a hard time?"

Sandy understood her concern, but he knew well enough there wasn't anything either of them could do about it. They were all just going to have to sit this one out until their notoriety faded.

"It's no big deal," Seth said. "Nothing I'm not used to anyway."

"Oh, that's good to hear," Kirsten said.

"Sarcasm, Mom? Not really your thing."

Sandy laughed until he saw Kirsten's scowl, and he remembered what a good mood she'd been in after work. He wanted his whole family to embrace that good mood. He wanted things to go back to normal, if only for one dinner.

"C'mon, guys, your day couldn't have been all bad. Ryan, was there anything good about going back to school?"

Ryan just ignored him, and when Sandy looked at Seth for help, he shrugged.

"I don't know. Ryan and I have a class together now. I guess that's good."

"You do?" Kirsten asked.

"Yeah, gym."

Sandy caught the glance that Seth shot to Ryan.

"So why are you taking gym now, Ryan?" Sandy asked.

Ryan set down his taco, but he didn't speak.

"He's off the soccer team," Seth said.

"What? Why?" Kirsten asked, but Sandy understood immediately.

"No after school activities," he said. "Sorry, kid."

Ryan just shrugged and pushed rice around his plate with a fork. They all ate in uncomfortable silence, silverware scraping against their plates, until Kirsten cleared her throat.

"Ryan, I was thinking, since you'll be home pretty early after school, you should hang out in here more," she said. "I mean, in the house. Maybe do your homework here, instead of in the pool house."

Ryan looked up at her and frowned. It wasn't like him not to answer Kirsten. That had changed. But Sandy wasn't sure what she was getting at either. Kirsten blushed a little.

"It must get lonely out there," she said softly. Ryan didn't say anything, but now Sandy understood what Kirsten was doing.

"Kirsten's got a point," he said, watching Ryan's gaze flicker between them. He looked trapped, but Sandy continued, "Just because you're stuck at the house doesn't mean you have to be by yourself all the time. You could probably use some company."

Kirsten said, "I just hate the idea of you spending all your time alone in that one room."

"It beats the suicide room," Ryan muttered.

Sandy stared at him. "The what?"

Ryan looked quickly around the table, pausing on each of their faces. Everyone had stopped eating.

"Nothing," Ryan said.

"They put you in a suicide room?" Sandy asked.

"Yeah. No. It wasn't like that."

"Ryan, were you-"

"No. No. I wasn't."

"Then why'd they put you in there?" Sandy said. He gripped his fork and knife, trying not to think of all the things that could have gone wrong for Ryan in juvie, all the ways he could have been hurt.

"Look, it wasn't a big deal. I'm fine," Ryan said. He pushed back from the table and stood up, grabbing his plate still loaded with food and carrying it into the kitchen.

"Ryan, please, sit back down and finish your dinner," Kirsten said, pleading with him. She looked like she might be sick.

Ryan didn't answer her, only mumbled a quick thanks on his way out the back door. Sandy watched him walk to the pool house and close the door. The blinds were down, and he couldn't see inside.

"Dad?" Seth said. He had dropped his fork and his eyes were wide.

Sandy didn't know how to explain any of this to his family. How was he supposed to sit in his bright, comfortable kitchen and tell them about a windowless, empty room where kids were locked up with almost no human contact? How could he talk about what might have happened for Ryan to end up there? How could he explain what that kind of isolation did to a kid? He couldn't.

"Finish your dinner, Seth."

Sandy didn't go to Ryan right away. He knew Ryan would need his space, need some time to recover and calm himself. So he waited an excruciating 10 or 15 minutes, sitting with his family and forcing himself to eat the rest of his meal. Kirsten turned to him once, eyebrows raised and silently begging him to explain what was happening, but he shook his head slightly and she let it go.

When he finally walked out to the pool house, only a faint glow came from behind the blinds, and Sandy imagined that Ryan was lying on his bed, reading in the light from one bedside lamp. He knew Kristen had bugged him about that habit, warning him about ruining his eyes. But Ryan seemed to prefer his room with the lights turned low; Sandy wondered if Ryan was uncomfortable in the Cohens' brightly lit home.

Sandy tapped once on the pool house door, waited, and then tapped again. When Ryan still didn't answer he opened it just slightly. He'd been right; Ryan was prone on his bed, a heavy book in his lap. He didn't look up when Sandy walked in and closed the door behind him. Sandy dropped into a chair at the end of the bed.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

Ryan frowned but kept his eyes on the book. "I didn't try to kill myself."

"I know that." Sandy sighed and leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. He tried to sound patient. "So you got in trouble. Were you fighting?"

Sandy thought for a moment that Ryan looked hurt, but he shook his head.

"Then what? You refused to follow orders? You told off a guard? You fell asleep in school? C'mon, Ryan, talk to me. What happened? They don't just put kids in isolation for no reason."

Ryan slammed his book shut and sat up on the bed. "I asked them to do it."

He spat the words, and even from across the room Sandy could see that Ryan was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Why would you do that?"

"There was a fight. In my room. A guy was gonna get stabbed. I yelled for the guards, and they broke it up, and then I asked them to put me in isolation."

Sandy felt his dinner churn painfully in his stomach, and he closed his eyes. A kid in Ryan's cell, with a knife. It was his worst nightmare. It was everything Sandy knew could go wrong in juvie.

"They would have gone after you," he said softly.

"I know."

Sandy wished he could tell Ryan that he was safe now, and that everything was going to be fine, and that he'd make sure that nothing bad could ever happen to him again. But he knew those empty words would mean nothing to Ryan. Sandy sat back in the chair and ran a hand over his face, feeling drained and useless.

"How long were you in there?"

"Five days."

Now Sandy really did feel sick. Ten days in juvie was bad enough, but five days alone in a tiny cell—with nothing to do but dwell on his own thoughts and memories—it was painful even to consider. And Sandy had left him in there, had been so fixated on making arrangements for Ryan's release that he had failed to be as vigilant as he should have been. He'd tried to call, but he'd assumed Ryan was angry or ashamed and didn't want to talk. He'd never imagined what Ryan had really been going through. The isolation, Ryan's sense of abandonment, must have been overwhelming.

And all because Ryan had refused to let him down.

"You kept your promise," Sandy said.

Ryan sat, silent and tense. Sandy stood and walked to him, and when Ryan wouldn't look up Sandy crouched down beside his bed and gripped his shoulder.

"Thank you," he said.

Ryan blinked quickly and nodded, and Sandy squeezed his shoulder one more time before letting go.

"Don't stay up too late," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."

Sandy knew he and Kirsten wouldn't be sleeping at all that night.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Even in the middle of winter, sometimes the weather was so nice in Newport that Ryan could sleep with the pool house doors open, a balmy, salty breeze rustling through the room and tickling his face. On those warm nights he would sleep in only his boxers and an undershirt, and he felt free.

He didn't like sleeping that way anymore. He didn't like keeping the doors open, feeling exposed to the Cohens, on display. He didn't like seeing his bare legs and that bracelet around his ankle.

It was Friday night, early and warm, and Ryan was preparing for bed. Like every other night that week, he'd escaped to the pool house immediately following dinner, not even offering to wash the dishes or take out the trash. The less time he spent around the Cohens—or really, anyone at all—the better. He thought they preferred it that way. He made them uncomfortable. They were self-conscious around him, delicate. They didn't know what to do about him.

He had mixed feelings about the weekend, but mostly he was relieved to have a few days away from school. The week had been so terrible that he was seriously considering asking the Cohens if he could transfer to a public school. He wasn't sure how long he could put up with the stares before he exploded and did something he would regret. He kept reminding himself that eventually they would all get over him and move on to the next Shame of the Week, but he wasn't sure he had that kind of patience anymore.

The only downside about the weekend was that Ryan was facing his first prolonged period tethered to the Cohens. He knew they must feel like wardens, with their juvenile delinquent locked up in a cell behind their house. Granted, it was a pretty great cell, but that didn't make his confinement much easier on anyone. He hated that he'd become such a burden on the Cohens' lives. He hated that his probation, his mistake, was messing up their family. They didn't deserve this sentence.

Ryan was crouched in front of the shelf where he kept his pajamas neatly folded when someone knocked at the door. He debated whether or not to allow them in. If it was Seth, he wouldn't have a choice; he'd come barging in on his own in a minute. If it was Sandy or Kirsten, they'd leave if he didn't say anything. They didn't come in uninvited anymore. That was new.

The door sprung open and Ryan looked back at his clothes, pulling a pair of sweatpants off the shelf. He didn't acknowledge Seth's entrance, but he knew that wouldn't deter Seth, who looked particularly energetic tonight.

"What are you doing tonight?" Seth asked, dropping onto Ryan's bed and bouncing a little.

Ryan glanced at the still-open door and frowned. He stood up and grabbed a towel from the top shelf. He'd already taken a shower that morning, but he was in the habit of bathing twice a day now, just because he could, and because it gave him something to do. He was very exfoliated for a person who'd never even heard of loofah six months ago.

"Don't tell me homework again," Seth said. "It's the weekend. We should hang out, have fun."

Ryan wanted to point out what had happened the last time they'd avoided homework and hung out on a Friday night, but he didn't.

"I know, I know, we don't have a great track record with Friday nights," Seth said, and Ryan was impressed by his ability to not only read Ryan's mind, but carry on a conversation as though it wasn't completely one-sided. "But I've got a good idea this time."

Ryan scowled at Seth, and shook his head. He clutched his towel and sweatpants to his chest and ducked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Seth immediately started knocking on the door.

"I'm serious, buddy," Seth said through the door. Ryan set his pajamas and the towel on the toilet lid and turned on the shower, muffling Seth's voice even further. "It even involves Luke."

Ryan had to admit he was intrigued by that, so he twisted off the faucet and unlocked the door. Seth was beaming at him on the other side.

"I should probably be offended that you'll open the door for Luke but not me, but I'll let it go because I know you're not in a great place right now," Seth said. "Anyway, what I was trying to say was Luke's coming over. Like, now. And so is everyone else. Well, not everyone, because you know, that would be way too many people for a pool house and I don't really know 'everyone' anyway."

"They're coming here?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Yes."

Ryan stared the ceiling. Clearly nothing good could come from this. He knew that Seth meant well, and he appreciated the thought. But after three days spent avoiding every person he knew at school, the last thing he wanted was for all of them to invade the pool house, the one place where he didn't feel like everyone was watching him and waiting for him to screw up.

"Marissa's coming," Seth said, smiling as though this news would really sell Ryan on the idea.

"No," Ryan said.

"No?" Seth repeated. "Dude, no? It's too late for no. They're on their way here now."

Ryan's answering glare was effective, because Seth took a step back and his face fell.

"Hey, man, look, I'm sorry. I just thought, your first week back, things are rough right now, maybe you could use a good time," Seth said. "But hey, if you don't want to hang out, we'll just go inside. No big deal. I'm sure they'll understand."

Ryan hated when Seth placated him. As annoying as Seth could be sometimes, Ryan preferred him aggressive, forcing his friendship on people like a gift he was afraid they would refuse. Ryan shrugged, and put his towel and sweatpants back on the shelves. Seth got the point.

"Cool," he said. "The hors d'oeuvres are inside. I'll be right back."

Ryan let himself smile as Seth walked out of the room. Only Seth would think to serve hors d'oeuvres at a pool house party.

* * *

It had taken quite a bit of impressive rhetoric on Seth's part to convince his parents to allow this party, but looking around the pool house, he was glad he'd made the effort.

Ryan was trying hard to stay out of the center of attention. As soon as Luke had shown up—seriously lacking in a social life now, Luke had been the first to arrive—Ryan had planted himself in a chair, and he hadn't moved once the entire night. But it didn't matter. Everyone came to him.

Right now Ryan looked more relaxed than Seth had seen him in two weeks. It was nearly 11, and he was settled deep in the chair, arms stretched out on either side of him, legs spread out in front. He wasn't smiling, but his features had softened. He'd lost some of the edginess that made him look permanently angry lately. Luke had dragged another chair to Ryan's side, and his posture was similar. Anna sat between them on the floor.

"Dude, you have to check out the new Infiniti," Luke said. He dropped his voice to a whisper, and Seth automatically leaned forward to hear the rest even though he honestly didn't care at all. "They haven't technically released it yet, but my dad got some of the advance brochures last week, and it is hot."

Ryan raised his eyebrows, but otherwise seemed unimpressed

"I bet you're more of a classic kind of guy, Ryan," Anna said.

"Classic?" Luke said.

"You know, like a '64 Impala, or a '67 Firebird, or any older Mustang. Classics."

"You've got to be kidding," Luke said, and as if to prove it he forced out a loud laugh. Seth rolled his eyes.

"I like the Impala," Ryan said.

Luke shook his head. "You have got to get your head out of Chino, man. Those cars are trash."

"Classic cars are very romantic," Anna said, drawing out the last word and smiling at Ryan.

"Romantic? What are you, qu-"

"Don't say it," Anna said, holding up a hand in front of Luke's face. He instantly obeyed and his mouth snapped closed. Anna laughed, and Ryan actually smiled.

"Cohen. Cohen! Are you even listening to me?"

"Huh?"

"I was saying that we're out of humus, but you were checking out Chino again," Summer said. "If you two want some alone time, I can get everyone out of here in 30 seconds."

"Even Marissa?"

The question was sarcastic. Summer sighed and, sitting at Seth's side on the bed, exchanged a look with him. Marissa was alone at the bar, rifling through a stack of CDs Seth had brought down from his room. It was only her latest excuse. She'd managed to say no more than half a dozen words to Ryan the entire night, and while she'd done a decent job of coming up with good excuses to avoid talking to him, Seth knew that Ryan was onto her. Ryan's eyes kept drifting in her direction, but he refused to leave his chair and go to her. It wasn't just this party, either. Marissa had been avoiding Ryan all week.

"It's hard for her," Summer said softly.

"Yeah, well, it's hard for Ryan too," Seth said, keeping his voice low but not even trying to disguise the bitterness.

"I'm sure she'll come around," Summer whispered. "But what is she supposed to say to him? And what are they supposed to do? He can't go anywhere. They can't even go to dinner, or a movie."

"It's not like they went out much in the first place. All they ever really do is make out in here."

Summer nodded, and Seth glanced at Ryan again. At least Ryan seemed to be enjoying himself, and Luke and Anna were doing a good job of keeping him entertained. Seth stood up and joined Anna on the floor, hoping Summer would take the hint and drag Marissa into the group. She did, and a few minutes later Ryan was surrounded, and Seth even caught him smiling again. Marissa moved closer to him eventually, leaning against the side of his chair so he could run a hand through her hair. It was a small gesture, especially for a couple that rivaled only his parents for public displays of disgusting affection, but Seth was glad to see it.

It was nearly midnight before their party was disrupted by a knock on the pool house door. Seth's dad popped his head in and smiled at the group.

"Sorry, guys, but it's time to break things up," he said.

Seth would have groaned at the early intrusion, or even at his dad showing his face at all, but Ryan had a strict curfew under the terms of his probation, so Seth didn't argue. The other kids seemed to get the idea, and they all stood up. Luke and Ryan exchanged a quick handshake, and Anna patted him on the knee.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Marissa said.

Ryan nodded, and she leaned over and kissed him carefully on the cheek. A moment later Seth was alone with Ryan.

"That wasn't too bad, right? I mean, did you see that shirt Summer was wearing? I don't even think she had a bra on, and that is all kinds of unfair. And Anna, well I told you about New Year's, and dude, I thought she was going to crawl in my lap when we were sitting on the floor."

Ryan allowed a half-smile, and pushed himself out of the chair. He looked tired suddenly. Seth realized it had been a long time since Ryan was required to be social, or have so much attention focused on himself. Only Ryan could become so exhausted from the effort of trying to relax.

"I'm sorry, man, I should have checked with you first," Seth said.

Ryan slapped him lightly on the shoulder as he headed toward the bathroom.

"Thanks," he said quietly. Seth thought he meant it too.

* * *

On Saturday, Ryan turned down Sandy's offer of lunch in the main house. He had sneaked into the kitchen the night before, after the party, and stolen some supplies: bread and peanut butter and some pieces of fruit—nothing anyone would miss. He had leftover hors d'oeuvres stashed in the pool house refrigerator, too. He was determined to keep to the pool house for the entire weekend. He wanted to stay out of the Cohens' way, and he wanted to give himself a break from being watched all the time. He was tired of people's eyes shifting to his ankle.

But someone knocked on the door, and he stiffened.

"Come in," he said.

He was surprised to see Marissa. She'd told him at the party the night before that she would be seeing him today, but he hadn't actually expected her to stop by. Things had been too awkward between them all week. He hardly even saw her at school anymore. She no longer came to his locker between classes, and he'd started spending his lunch periods hiding in the stacks of the library. They sat together in the classes they shared, and that was about it.

Now he sat up straight on his bed, pushing a history textbook off his lap, but he didn't go to her. She stayed in the doorway, fidgeting with her hands in a way that reminded him of Kirsten when she was nervous. Marissa seemed to catch herself and slid her hands in the pockets of her short skirt. She still didn't move toward him.

"I just came by to see how you were doing," she said. Her voice was shaking slightly.

"Does Sandy or Kirsten know you're here?" he asked. "Because I'm not really supposed to have visitors. I mean, without their permission."

"I know. You told me. Kirsten let me in."

Her own words seemed to pain her, sticking in her throat so she had to force them out, embarrassed. He ducked his head so she wouldn't see his face. Was he really that transparent? He didn't know how to talk to her anymore. He didn't know how to talk to anyone, really, but she couldn't fill the silences the way Seth and Sandy could. And neither of them, it seemed, could begin to fill this one. He sat motionless on the bed, waiting. She hovered next to the pool house door. Finally, he looked up and their eyes met for the first time. She jumped like a startled deer and suddenly he understood everything.

"Look, we don't have to-" he said.

"I don't think I can make the party tonight," she said loudly, interrupting him. Ryan had no idea what she was talking about, and she seemed to read his confusion. "The party? Kirsten's fundraiser?"

Damn it. Ryan had forgotten all about the party, and in his isolation these past few days, none of the Cohens had reminded him about it. Every year the Cohens hosted a fundraiser for the Harbor School. It was the usual formal event, Ryan had been told weeks ago, with an open bar and grilled duck served on tiny, silver-plated skewers. The money would be raised through a silent auction.

Ryan had no intention of attending the party. He'd stick to the pool house for the night.

He nodded to Marissa that he remembered the party now, and she finally walked the rest of the way into the pool house, stopping before she'd reached his bed. She rocked on her feet, her hands still buried in her pockets.

"My mom has some friends visiting from out of town, and she wants me to go out to dinner with them," she said, speaking carefully as though she was reciting lines she'd learned.

Ryan gave her a small smile, letting her go. His girlfriend never missed an opportunity to hang out with him, especially when it meant escaping her mother. His girlfriend was clingy and sometimes talked too much. His girlfriend would have been on his bed by now, crawling on top of him and pushing his hands away with a sweet smile when he tried to go too far.

His girlfriend was done with him now.

"We don't have to do this," he said quietly.

Marissa's face was blank for a moment, but then her eyes widened and she took another step toward him. "No, Ryan, I didn't-"

"I get it," he said.

"It's not like that. It's just, everything's different now. You're different now."

"I know," Ryan said. "It's over. I understand."

"No." Tears filled her eyes and spilled out over her cheeks, and she didn't bother to brush them away. "Please. Let me explain."

"What's to explain? Why bother?"

Marissa pressed the heels of her hands over her eyes, and he heard her breath hitching in her throat. He hated to see her cry, but he didn't go to her, not when she wasn't denying anything. He wondered if this had been her own decision, or if someone else—her mother, her father, her therapist—had told her that he wasn't worth the trouble. He wanted to believe that she wasn't thinking for herself, but he knew it wasn't true.

It was one thing to date a traditional bad boy, a kid with a mysterious past and a reputation for getting into trouble. Minor trouble. Ryan knew that part of the reason he appealed to Marissa was because he was unlike anything she'd ever known in Newport. He also knew that he'd now crossed a line. She'd never intended to date someone she had to visit in jail, who was monitored constantly and couldn't even take her out to dinner. She had enough of her own problems. She didn't need a boyfriend who was a convict. And she was right; he was different now. There was nothing he could do for her anymore.

"You should go," he said.

"I love you," she said, and swallowed hard. "I do. I just can't…I don't know. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"I know," he said. "It's okay."

It wasn't okay, but what was he supposed to say? Marissa stood in the middle of his room, sobbing freely now, her arms wrapped around her ribs. He wished she'd wipe the tears off her face, at least.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she turned and fled.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Ryan threw his history book across the room. He wouldn't let this hurt. Severing ties was easy for him. The less he had in the first place, the less he had to lose. He'd learned that lesson a long time ago.

* * *

Kirsten shut the front door with a nudge of her hip and leaned back against it with a long sigh of relief. It was only a little after one, and already she could hardly wait for the day to be over. The stack of clothes in her arms started slipping and she clutched them to her chest to keep them from falling to the floor. She blew a strand of hair out of her face and pushed off the door, heading to the stairs.

Guests would begin arriving for the Harbor School fundraiser by seven, and Kirsten had a long afternoon ahead of her. The caterers would be there in just a couple hours, she still had to return a phone call from Dr. Kim, the silent auction needed to be organized and put on display—and Kirsten hadn't even had lunch yet. She trudged up the stairs to Seth's room, where her still-grounded son was supposed to be. He'd probably wrangled permission from Sandy for a couple hours of sailing time. Kirsten pulled Seth's dry-cleaned suit off the top of the pile in her arms and laid it carefully on his bed. At least he'd made the bed that morning.

Kirsten returned downstairs and stopped when she got to the kitchen. Sunlight reflected brilliantly off the pool house windows. Ryan still had all of the shades drawn. He never opened the curtains anymore. She imagined that he needed his privacy more than ever now. She considered leaving his suit in the kitchen, where he could find it himself later on, but she knew he wouldn't be coming into the house any time soon, if at all. Kristen blew at another strand of hair and headed outside.

To her surprise Ryan answered the door when she knocked instead of just telling her to come in or ignoring her. He didn't say anything, but he walked back to the bed and let her enter. He'd spread what looked like every one of his schoolbooks over the comforter, and stacks of papers were arranged in neat piles around an empty spot at the head of the bed. Without looking at Kirsten, Ryan sat back down on that empty spot and picked up a notebook and pencil.

"That's a lot of homework. I guess you got a little behind in your classes."

Ryan glanced quickly at her without moving his head. Kirsten shifted the clothes in her arms.

"I got your suit dry-cleaned, for the party tonight," she said, draping the clothes over the back of an armchair.

"I'm not going."

"What? Why not?"

Ryan's only answer was a shrug, and he continued writing in his notebook. Kirsten leaned on the back of the chair and watched him.

"Ryan, you have to go. It's to raise money for your school."

He didn't even bother with a shrug this time, just turned a page in his notebook and ignored her. Ryan had never been outwardly petulant with her before, and she found herself strangely relieved at his attitude. At least she had experience with this kind of stubborn, typical teenaged behavior.

She carefully cleared a spot on the edge of the bed and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

"I know it isn't easy, facing everyone after what's happened," she said. Ryan didn't look up, but his pen stopped moving across the page. "But you can't stay locked up in here forever."

"So suddenly you're worried about me being locked up?"

The naked anger in his voice made her flinch. Ryan still wouldn't look at her, but he was gripping his pen so tightly that his knuckles were white. She wasn't prepared for a confrontation. Part of her wanted to leave now, give Ryan his space and let him resolve this anger on his own. Or let Sandy help him later. But she couldn't. This was her problem to fix, her relationship to mend.

"Ryan-"

"Look, forget about it. It's fine. I just don't want to go to the party."

"It's not fine," Kirsten said. "Of course I was worried about you. I was terrified for you. I hated that you had to go back to that place."

Ryan sat up, pushing his notebook off his legs and finally meeting her eyes.

"You let me go," he said, his voice rough. "You could have talked to the cops, you could have called Sandy, you could have done something. But you didn't. You left me there."

"Is that what you think? That I just…abandoned you?"

He shook his head, dismissing her, clearly not wanting to hear anything she intended to say. Kirsten leaned toward him, her own frustration building.

"I did everything I could for you, Ryan," she said.

"Right. That's why I ended up in juvie for 10 days."

"You know that's not my fault," Kirsten said. "I called Sandy when you were arrested and he got to you as soon as he could. I tried talking to the police, but you attacked one of them. You resisted arrest, you-"

"I know what I did," Ryan said.

"Do you? Do you really have any idea what you did to yourself, or to this family?" Kirsten didn't bother trying to contain the rush of words. "You think I turned my back on you, but you turned your back on me, on us, first. We've tried to help you, we've tried to give you everything you need. And you almost threw it all away for a Friday night."

"I never asked you to give me anything."

"You didn't have to," Kirsten said. "You're here right now because we care about you and because we want what's best for you."

"_You_ want what's best for me?" Ryan leaned forward, forcing eye contact. "Sandy's the one who got me out of juvie. Seth came to visit me. But you never even said goodbye at the police station. You couldn't even look at me."

Kirsten opened her mouth automatically to reply, but his words deflated her. She turned away from him instead and stared straight ahead, wishing the curtains were open so she could see outside, so she didn't have to feel so trapped. Had she really not said goodbye? She couldn't remember. She had tried so hard not to remember.

When she looked back at Ryan he was sitting back again, his eyes closed. He was struggling to regain some composure, his lips drawn in a tight line and his jaw clenched so hard Kirsten could see a muscle twitch.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just thought…" He trailed off and she gave him a moment to finish. She guessed she already knew what he wanted to say. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.

But he just shook his head, looking suddenly exhausted. It hurt Kirsten to look at him.

"It's fine," he said. "I'll go to the party. I'll do whatever you want."

She opened her mouth to tell him he didn't have to go, but she wanted him there. She wanted him to leave the pool house and spend time with his friends and relax for just a little while. She couldn't stand keeping him cooped up for another night.

"Thank you," she said

As she closed the pool house door behind her, Kirsten considered what Ryan might have wanted to say. He'd thought he was part of her family. That she would take care of him like she would her own son. That she would protect him.

Kirsten clasped a hand over her mouth. Suddenly she was glad, after all, that the curtains were closed. She didn't want Ryan to see her cry.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Ryan tipped the glass in his hand back and forth, watching the Coke swirl around the sides. He wanted a shot of whiskey more than just about anything, and not the good stuff the Cohens usually kept locked in their liquor cabinet, the hundred-dollar Scotch that guests sipped from glass tumblers. He wanted Jack and Coke, something that would make his eyes water and his stomach burn, and go straight to his head. He'd never had much of a tolerance for whiskey. Trey had often made fun of him about that.

But there was no chance he'd get his hands on whiskey, cheap or not, tonight. Even a stolen glass of wine was out of the question. Under the terms of his offender contract, the Cohens weren't allowed to keep any liquor in the house, which meant this particular gala-of-the-week was a dry party. Ryan was single-handedly responsible for making Newport's social elite sober up for a night. He should have taken a wry pleasure in that, but he really couldn't take pleasure in anything right now.

He sat in a wicker chair in front of the pool house, where the hum of the Harbor School fundraising party seemed distant and insignificant. Ryan recognized the usual players of the Newport social scene, spilling out of the house and surrounding the pool. The tight-faced women wore too much makeup and anxious smiles, and their husbands sized each other up with stiff handshakes and forced laughter. White lights sparkled in the trees; the Cohens liked to string them up for their parties, and they always reminded Ryan of Christmas, and the fake tree his mom would put up when he was very young. They'd had the colored lights, though, the kind that blinked on and off and made him think of police cars and carnivals.

He finished off his soda and considered going for a refill, but that would mean seeing people and talking to them. Ryan had agreed to attend the party—he hadn't agreed to mingle. He'd spent the past hour sitting in front of the dark pool house, and so far no one had bothered him. Even Seth was keeping his distance. Ryan wondered if Kirsten had said anything to her family about giving him space.

Ryan had pretty much instantly regretted his outburst with Kirsten that afternoon. He'd meant everything he'd said, but he'd never intended to say any of it out loud, and certainly not to Kirsten.

It wasn't just that he regretted having lost control. The worst part had been Kirsten's inability to defend herself. There was a good reason Ryan rarely demanded much from anyone, or begged them to make promises or raise his expectations. He was just asking for disappointment. And this afternoon, Kirsten had disappointed him. Against all of his instincts, all of his best judgment, he'd lost control and he'd articulated the anger and fear that had been sitting with him for nearly two weeks—that Kirsten really had abandoned him. And she hadn't been able to deny it.

He should've known better. He should never have said anything in the first place. Because now he knew the truth, and even if she hadn't said out loud what he feared the most, she hadn't denied it, and that was the same thing.

Ryan's stomach growled and he knew that self-imposed isolation or not, he wouldn't be able to resist the appetizers floating on trays around the party much longer. They smelled delicious, and he hadn't eaten a thing all day. Besides, maybe he could find Luke, and maybe Luke had a flask on him. It wasn't out of the question.

Ryan stood up and tried to find the path of least resistance into the house. There were at least 100 people buzzing around the Cohens' backyard. If he skirted around the edge of the pool and entered the house through the kitchen, he could probably avoid most of the party. He was halfway to the back doors when he saw Kirsten.

She was near the doors that led to her bedroom, so she wasn't anywhere near him, and in fact her back was to him, so he wasn't in any danger of being spotted. But he stopped anyway. She stood facing Seth and Sandy, both of whom were smiling broadly at her, and as Ryan watched Seth laughed loudly enough that he could hear it from across the patio. Sandy draped an arm around Seth's shoulders, and Kirsten leaned forward and slapped Seth playfully on the arm before tousling his hair.

Ryan looked away then and turned back to the pool house. He didn't bother with the lights, but went straight to the closet where he found a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his old leather jacket, the one he hadn't worn since August. They'd be stale and tasteless, but it didn't matter. He grabbed his lighter from his nightstand on the way out and ducked around the side of the house, loosening the tie around his neck as he walked. Even smoking could get him hauled back to juvie now, but he didn't really care.

He didn't fit with the Cohens. He'd never have what they had—the family, the intimacy, the closeness that seemed to come so damn easily to them. It wasn't his to ask for. He'd learned to accept that over the past 16 years. He could learn to accept it again.

Ryan tapped a cigarette into his palm as he walked carefully down the driveway. He figured he could make it to the curb without setting off the bracelet. He didn't think the driveway could be more than 75 feet long, so he was still within his range. When he'd reached the end of the driveway he lit his cigarette, trying not to remember the first time he'd seen Marissa and the last time he'd smoked.

He coughed hard on the first inhale and felt his cheeks flush automatically in embarrassment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd coughed on a cigarette. Trey would probably tell him he was going soft, but Trey was always saying that anyway.

Ryan leaned against the pillar at the end of the Cohens' driveway and watched the smoke curl from the end of his cigarette and disappear into the dark. As a kid the smoke had fascinated him, and at night he had sometimes sat with his mom in front of their house in Chino, transfixed by the wisps of smoke. Even now he still sort of thought it was beautiful.

He wondered where his mom was now. Drunk, probably, maybe high too. Lonely. She was always lonely. He pushed her out of his mind and inhaled again.

A shriek of laughter came from the house and Ryan glanced back over his shoulder. The lights over the main doors were on, but otherwise the front of the house was dark, making it look faintly imposing. Ryan didn't think he'd ever quite get used to the idea that this place was his home. He knew Kirsten had been right—they'd given him so much. Too much, maybe. More than he had any right to.

But it wasn't as though he'd forced them into it. He'd never asked for a thing from them. He was always very careful about that. If they wanted to hand him new clothes and new shoes and a ticket to any college in the country, that was their choice. He didn't owe them a thing.

Except he didn't believe that for a second.

The unmistakable sound of glass breaking snapped Ryan out of his thoughts, and he immediately stood up straight and looked to his left, down the street. Under the dim glare from a streetlight he could make out three figures walking toward him. The one on the far right shoved the one in the middle, who tripped and nearly fell down, sending his companions into a fit of laughter. Ryan recognized them as they got closer. They were kids from Harbor. Kids he knew. Two of them had beer bottles in their hands. Ryan guessed a third bottle had probably shattered in the street somewhere behind them.

They would see him soon, and he had just a few seconds to make a decision, whether he would stand his ground or retreat to the house. He glanced back at the house again, at the dark windows and the expensive cars that were lined up in the driveway, and he leaned back against the pillar and drew the cigarette to his mouth.

"Hey, Atwood. Aren't you a little far from home?"

They laughed, and Ryan blew out a quick puff of smoke and clenched his jaw.

"What, they got a muzzle on you along with that leash?"

The three of them stopped in the street a few yards from Ryan, and Chip, a kid Ryan had never had a friendly encounter with, pointed with his bottle.

"My dad sent us out on a beer run," Chip said. "How pathetic is that? Because of you the Cohens have to host a fucking bring-your-own-beer party. I don't know why they put up with your shit."

Ryan dropped his cigarette and pushed off the pillar, stepping toward Chip until they were face to face and he could smell the alcohol on Chip's breath. Ryan's head was pounding and it felt good. He thrust out his chin and took another half-step forward.

"You wanna fight?" Chip said. "Or are you even allowed to fight?"

"I can do whatever the hell I want," Ryan said.

"Yeah? 'Cause I heard you need permission to-"

Ryan shoved Chip hard before he could finish, and he stumbled backwards, nearly falling. Ryan didn't give him a chance to recover his balance before he followed him and got in his face again.

"You're an idiot, Atwood," Chip said, breathing hard.

"Maybe I am, but who's the one starting a fight with a convicted felon?"

"A felon? You're a fucking juvenile delinquent. You're nothing."

Ryan punched Chip in the face this time, catching him on the jaw and making his head snap back. Ryan was squaring his shoulders to hit him again when he felt a sharp tug on his left arm, and he was pulled backwards.

"Hey! Ryan, man, stop it."

Seth kept his hand firmly on Ryan's arm as he moved to stand in front of him, blocking his path toward Chip. Ryan tried to take a step forward anyway, and Chip did the same, ready to meet him halfway, but Seth stayed between them. He planted both hands on Ryan's chest, trying to push him back.

"Get out of my way, Seth."

"No way, no, you can't do this. Calm down, man. You've got to just back off."

Ryan's head was still pounding and he couldn't catch his breath, but he tried again to step around Seth, and again Seth managed to move quickly and stay in front of him. He kept his hands on Ryan's chest, his arms locked.

Seth leaned toward him and said quietly, "Seriously, Ryan, you've got to stop. Don't do this. It's not worth it."

Ryan could hear the urgency, the panic in Seth's voice, and it snapped him back to his senses. So he let himself be pushed backwards. With one last glare at Chip, Ryan turned around, surprised to see that he was in the middle of the street. He let Seth guide him back to the curb, where he sat and fished for another cigarette.

* * *

Seth didn't know if he had ever seen Ryan so pissed. Chip and his cronies drifted away, toward the house. Ryan sat on the curb, rolling a cigarette through his fingers, breathing hard. He wouldn't look at Seth, only glared down the street at the other guys' backs. Seth sat next to him.

"You're smoking again?" he said, trying to keep him voice non-committal.

"So?" Ryan said.

"So I don't think you're supposed to be smoking," Seth said. "It's illegal, for one thing."

"Because you're always so worried about being a law-abiding citizen."

"And my parents will freak if they see you," Seth said.

"Yeah, and then what?" Ryan said. "I'm grounded?"

"Ryan," Seth said. But he didn't have an answer for that, because what were his parents going to do to Ryan, anyway? It wasn't like Ryan watched TV or used the PlayStation these days. All he did was sit in the pool house.

Ryan lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

"Maybe it'll finally give your mom an excuse to kick me out," he said.

Seth could only stare at him. He'd had no idea that things were this bad, that Ryan was still so angry.

"She wouldn't do that," Seth said. "You know that, right?"

Ryan exhaled, blowing smoke at the ground.

"She's _trying_," Seth said. "She wants you here, you know she does."

Seth watched Ryan's face for some reaction, but Ryan wasn't giving him anything. His jaw jutted out the way it always did when he was really furious, but he obviously wasn't going to answer.

"And you can't get in fights," Seth said, "because you might get taken away again. And don't say you don't care, because I care, and I want you to care that I care, okay?"

Ryan just stared at Seth.

"All right, maybe I'm not making sense," Seth said. "But you get my drift, right? Which is that I want you to stay, and my parents do, too."

Ryan tapped his cigarette on the curb, looking unconvinced but also a little less furious, which was good. Seth heard a not-too-distant shout and he looked up to see Chip and the other two guys coming back down the driveway.

"Come on," Seth said, nervous now. "Put that thing out. Let's go inside. Summer's here, and Luke. We can go hang out with them in my room so you don't have to see anybody."

He tugged the sleeve of Ryan's jacket, and Ryan sighed and looked like he might be considering it. He crushed the cigarette out on the cement.

"Look, they're holding hands."

Ryan's head shot up, and Seth quickly let go of his sleeve. It was Holly's old boyfriend, Nordlund, with Chip and the other guy.

"When did you figure out you were into dudes, Atwood?" Chip said. "Did you find a boyfriend in jail?"

Ryan stood up slowly, his hands closing into fists at his sides.

"Maybe it was when Marissa broke up with him," Nordlund said.

"Marissa didn't break up with him," Seth protested. Ryan shot a hard glare in his direction. Seth wanted to grab him, to drag him back in the house and away from these guys, but Ryan stood quivering like a bowstring pulled taut, and Seth was afraid he would snap if anyone touched him. Chip looked Seth up and down with a smirk.

"Or maybe," Chip said, "the Cohens let him stay here because he's fucking their son. He has to pay the rent somehow, right?"

Seth had hardly digested the words when Ryan lunged forward, drilling Chip with a punch to the jaw. Nordlund grabbed Ryan's arm and Chip hit Ryan in the stomach. Ryan doubled over and Chip hit him in the face. When Seth saw the blood on Ryan's mouth he finally jumped in and tried to pull Nordlund away.

"Get off me, Cohen," Nordlund said, and shoved Seth backward.

"Leave him alone," Seth said, and went for Nordlund again, but the third guy, the one Seth didn't know, got in front of him and pushed him. Seth stumbled backward and tripped over the curb, landing hard. He sat up and tried to catch his breath. The third guy was still standing back, just watching, but now Nordlund was pinning both Ryan's arms behind him and Chip was taking full advantage. Ryan spat blood and Seth was just about to run for help when Ryan broke free and knocked Nordlund aside with a well-placed elbow to the face. He tackled Chip, landing on top of him and straddling him in the middle of the street.

Ryan brought his fist down once, twice, and again, hitting Chip on the face, the chest, the arms. Seth stood frozen, the hair on the back of his neck prickling up. He had seen Ryan fight before, but it was never like this. The other times he had delivered deliberate, carefully-timed punches. You could almost see him thinking, measuring his opponent, anticipating his moves. Ryan had none of that control or deliberation now. His arms were flailing, and he only hit his intended target about half the time, though Seth was willing to bet that the blows that landed were doing a fair amount of damage. He thought maybe Ryan wasn't even hitting Chip anymore, that he was hitting the cops and the guys in juvie and maybe even Seth's mom. And Seth wanted to go and help Nordlund, who was trying to pull Ryan off Chip, and he wanted to grab Ryan and tell him that destroying Chip wasn't going to give Ryan his life back. But it was too late, because a car pulled up, the headlights sweeping over the tangle of boys on the street, and Seth saw right away that it was a cop car. There were no flashing lights or sirens, but he could see the insignia of the Newport Police Department on the side of the car.

The car pulled up right next to the pillar and two officers jumped out, and Seth's stomach flipped over. One of the cops grabbed Ryan by the arm and yanked him up, while the other one helped Chip to his feet. Both guys were breathing hard and Ryan's nose and mouth were bleeding. Chip was pretty messed up too, but somehow Ryan looked worse.

Seth started backing up the driveway to go find his dad, but one of the cops said, "Hold on, we're going to have some questions for you guys."

Seth exchanged looks with the other guy, and they both stayed where they were, the other guy cramming his hands in his pockets and scuffing his foot against the concrete.

"Have a seat on the curb," one of the officers said, and Nordlund, Chip and Ryan obeyed, sitting side-by-side and not looking at each other. Seth wished desperately that the party wasn't happening on the other side of the house, so one of his parents might see and come help Ryan. Because Ryan didn't look at all capable of helping himself at this point. He was slumped forward, resting his forehead on the heel of his hand.

"We got a call from one of the neighbors. Said something about a disturbance out here," the officer said. "Somebody want to tell me what's going on?"

"Can I just get my parents?" Seth said. "This is my house, and–"

"What's your name?"

"Seth Cohen," Seth said. "My parents are Ryan's guardians, can I just–"

"Ryan," the officer said. "Ryan Atwood?"

At the sound of his name, Ryan looked up.

"The monitoring center just radioed about you," the cop said. "You were next on our list. You have an ankle bracelet?"

Ryan nodded almost imperceptibly. He looked exhausted.

"You've been out of range for quite a while, do you know that?" the cop said. "The EM staff reported no answer when they called to check on you. Where have you been?"

"Here," Ryan said. He stared at the ground.

"There's a party," Seth said. "A fundraiser."

"And you left the party to come after this guy? You attacked him?"

"That's not how it happened," Seth protested, but no one else said anything. Ryan just shrugged, and Seth thought later that it might have been the shrug that made up their minds, because the officers looked at each other and one of them nodded.

"Get up," the officer said to Ryan, and Ryan nodded and got to his feet. One of the cops put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. Ryan didn't resist. He put his hands behind his back before the cops even said anything else. He looked like he didn't care anymore what happened to him, and Seth was overwhelmed suddenly with fear and anger. He spun around, ignoring the shout behind him, and for the second time in two weeks Seth ran away from the cops. He sprinted up the driveway and burst through the front door.

His dad was the one he wanted to find, but the first person he saw was his mother. She stood in the dining room, talking to Julie Cooper and smiling. Seth pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the annoyed glances.

"Mom," he said. "Ryan's in trouble."

His mom looked up sharply, and he was struck by the sheer panic in her eyes. She set her drink on the dining room.

"The police are here," he said. He was panting. "The driveway."

"Oh my God," Kirsten said. She shoved her way through the crowd and ran to the front door.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Kirsten was right behind Seth when he burst through the front door and ran toward the street, winding between the cars stacked in the driveway. A police car was parked at an angle in the street, blocking the driveway, its lights cutting through the darkness. Kirsten stopped when she reached the sidewalk and spotted Ryan a few feet away, a cop leading him toward the police car. In flashes of red and blue Kirsten saw the familiar faces of her neighbors, gathered in the street. Three boys sat on the curb to her left, where a second officer was crouched low and talking quietly to them.

"What's going on here?" Kirsten said.

The cop holding Ryan stopped, and Ryan glanced her way. She saw that his face was bloodied. His suit was crumpled and dirty, the tie loose around his neck and blood staining the collar of his dress shirt. His hands were behind his back; they'd handcuffed him. They were going to take him away.

"Is this your house, ma'am?"

The question came from the cop on her left, a large man with a thick mustache. He stood up and walked over to her.

"Yes. Can you please tell me what's happening?"

"I'm Officer Drake," the cop said, nodding his head to her. "Are you Ryan Atwood's guardian?"

"Yes." Kirsten looked quickly over her shoulder, toward the house, hoping that Sandy might show up and fix everything, send the cops home with a smile and a handshake. But he didn't know, and he wasn't coming.

"Then you know that he's not allowed to leave your property," Drake said. "We found him in the middle of the street, fighting."

"Mom, those guys started it," Seth said, touching her arm urgently.

"Seth," Kirsten warned. She didn't need him here, making matters worse. "Get your father."

"But-"

"Now, Seth."

The other cop, a short man with close-cropped hair, started leading Ryan forward again, and Kirsten rounded the car, blocking their path.

"Ma'am, please get out of the way."

"I'm not moving until someone tells me exactly what's going on here," Kirsten said. "Ryan? What happened?"

But Ryan wasn't looking at her anymore, and she saw immediately that he was in bad shape, and not just from the fight. He stared at his feet as though determined to ignore everything that was happening around him. To him. He was defeated. He was tired and he was done.

Kirsten would have to do his fighting for him.

The cop gripped Ryan's elbow and moved toward the car again, and Kirsten put her hand up.

"Hold on a minute," she said. "My son says these boys started a fight with Ryan, and you're going to arrest him?"

"Ryan was beating the crap out of this kid—pardon the language, ma'am—when we got here," said the cop with Ryan.

Kirsten didn't budge. "I am not going to let you ruin Ryan's future because someone picked a fight with him."

Officer Drake sighed deeply.

"Ma'am, please, don't make this more difficult," he said. "If Ryan had just wandered too far from the house it'd be one thing. We could let him off with a warning. But we've got him on assault too. We've got to take him in. We don't have a choice."

"Like hell you don't," Kirsten said, and Ryan's head finally lifted at that. The side of his face was already swelling, she could see that even in the faint light from the car. His eyes were shining, and Kirsten thought he looked close to tears. He was terrified. She felt her resolve building.

"We can talk about this at the station, after we've contacted his probation officer," Officer Drake said.

"No way," Kirsten said. "We'll talk about this now, after you've taken off those handcuffs, and after you've arrested those boys for assault."

The cop with Ryan let out an exaggerated sigh. "Come on, ma'am."

"They came on my property and attacked my family," Kirsten said. "I'd call that assault. I know my husband would call that assault. You know who he is, right? Sandy Cohen?"

"Mrs. Cohen," one of the boys, she thought his name was Chip, spoke up behind her. His voice was high and he sounded panicked.

"Kirsten, it's okay," Ryan whispered.

"No, Ryan, it's not okay. Not at all."

"We're just doing our job," said the cop holding Ryan.

"Then finish your job, and arrest these other kids too."

"Mrs. Cohen, please," Officer Drake said. "I know you're upset, but don't be unreasonable. Ryan is on electronic monitoring for a reason. These other kids have clean records, and we're not going to arrest them for a fistfight."

"A fistfight? That's what you call this?" Kirsten felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. "Look at Ryan's face. Look at what they did to him. You're telling me that these kids can come to my home, beat up my kid, and you're going to arrest him for defending himself and straying 10 feet too far from the house? This is outrageous. And this is not happening."

She was breathing hard now, glaring at Officer Drake. She stood her ground. For a long moment no one said anything and all Kirsten could hear was her own breathing and the faint bubble of conversation from the party still going on in her house.

"Look, if we let him go you're still going to have to deal with his probation officer," Officer Drake said.

Kirsten recognized the surrender, and she kept herself from smiling.

"I know that," she said.

Officer Drake studied her, and finally sighed and gestured to his partner.

"Let him go."

The cop holding Ryan raised an eyebrow at Officer Drake, but then he reached into a pocket for keys and quickly released Ryan from the handcuffs. Ryan immediately stepped to the side, away from the cop and the car, and brought his hands in front of him. Kirsten waved him toward her.

"Come on, Ryan, go back inside. Let's get you cleaned up."

He didn't move at first, and Kirsten was afraid he was going to do something stupid—run away, or jump the other boys, or even ask the cops to take him back to juvie because he didn't want to live in her house anymore—but then he shuffled by her without a word.

"All right, boys, go on home," said the cop who had been holding Ryan. Kirsten didn't wait for everyone to leave.

She felt suddenly deflated. She desperately needed to sit down and drink some water. Or better yet, a glass of wine. She needed Sandy. She followed Ryan to the house, catching up to him just as he reached the front door. He paused there, his hand on the doorknob.

"Thank you," he said quietly, staring straight ahead.

She reached up to pat him on the shoulder, but stopped just short when she was overcome with the uncertainty again, the same doubt that struck her so often when she was alone with him. She fought it this time, and she squeezed his arm.

"It's okay, Ryan," she said. "Let's go inside."

Inside the house, Kirsten ignored the stares and guided Ryan up the steps to her bedroom, where at least they'd have privacy. She sat him down on the bench at the end of the bed and went to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and running it under warm water.

Ryan looked up when she approached and lifted his hand as though to take the washcloth from her, but she ignored him and dabbed at his face. He flinched slightly when the cloth touched his skin, but he didn't move away. In addition to his bloody nose he had a cut lip, and his cheek was swelling. She swiped gently at his upper lip and when she glanced up she caught him looking at her. His face–dazed and hurt and ashamed–reminded her of Seth's face when, not so many years ago, she had done this for him when the other boys caught up with him after school. Seth had cried then, a couple of tears tracking clean lines through the blood and grime on his face. But she had never seen Ryan cry.

She remembered hugging Seth, too, even though he held rigid and wouldn't hug back. She could still recall the feeling of wishing she could take his pain, absorbing it into her skin so he wouldn't have to carry it anymore. She wanted to hug Ryan, too, even though she knew better than to believe he could shed his pain so easily. She wanted to grip his arm and ruffle his hair and remind herself that she hadn't lost him yet, that he was there and whole and safe. But she couldn't. She hadn't earned it, and she could see from his face that too much kindness might be the thing that finally made him break down. So she contented herself with only the most practical contact, and finished cleaning his face.

When Kirsten let her arm drop to her side, Ryan looked up at her and took a deep breath.

"You didn't have to do that," he said, his voice a little hoarse.

She sat down beside him on the bench.

"Ryan," she said, and then he looked up at her again. The combination of hope and fear in his face made her want to cry, and she reached for him automatically. She couldn't hold his hand; it would have seemed too intimate. Instead she put a hand on his wrist.

"I missed you last week," she said. "I still miss you. You're not really here, are you?"

Kirsten felt a little ridiculous talking that way to a 16-year-old kid, but Ryan shook his head and she knew he understood.

"So now I know what it's like to lose you," she said. "And I don't want to lose you again."

"My mom said that," Ryan said, shifting on the bench. "Before she left."

He wasn't looking at her now, and she wondered if he knew just how much that hurt. She took her hand away from his wrist and he turned his body to face her, his eyes widening just a bit.

"My mom never would have done what you did," he said, and reached a hand in her direction, though he stopped before he ever touched her. "Not that she wouldn't have wanted to. She just–she was too scared. All the time."

Kirsten nodded and took a deep breath.

"Ryan, I've been terrified every day for the past two weeks. You have no idea."

He shrugged one shoulder. He didn't believe her, she could tell.

"That night, in the police station–"

Now he looked up, watching her warily.

"I made a mistake," she said, and the words unfurled like a flag between them, and she wanted to pull them back. But she had been doing that all along.

"I would have fought harder for Seth."

Ryan swallowed hard, and ducked his head.

"I know," he said, barely audible.

"I've been trying to protect Seth his whole life," Kirsten said. "From bruises, and bullies and – I've never been the perfect mother, but I would throw myself in traffic for him. I wouldn't even have to think about it."

Ryan's head was still down, and she thought he must be thinking about his own mother again. She touched his cheek with her fingertips so he would look at her and he did, though he couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"The thing is, I think you might do that, too," she said. "For Seth. Or someone else you care for."

He shrugged, then nodded slightly.

"We both tried to protect Seth that night. And neither of us protected you."

Now he did look her in the eye. She was close to tears, and he obviously noticed, because he looked scared.

"You couldn't do anything for me," he said.

"Maybe not," she said. "That's what I've been trying to tell myself. I was furious at you for putting Seth in danger. But it was more than that. I think a part of me has been preparing to lose you since you came to us. I've been so afraid of letting you down, and now that I have I'm afraid you'll never forgive me."

"No, I–" Ryan sneaked a glance at her face and licked his lips. "I do. Of course I do."

She nodded, feeling light-headed from the combination of relief and exhaustion.

"And I _am_ sorry about Seth."

"Seth is fine. Maybe he even learned something," Kirsten said. "I'm worried about you."

He shrugged and opened his mouth, but the bedroom door opened and Sandy hurried in, followed by Seth. Kirsten heard the light jazz and the buzz of conversation from downstairs, and realized she had forgotten all about the party.

"What were you thinking?" Sandy said. He was practically shouting, and Ryan stood up, shifting his weight nervously. Sandy turned to Kirsten. "We couldn't find you."

"The cops were gone," Seth said, "And I didn't know – we didn't know if –"

"What did they say?" Sandy asked, and he looked so agitated that Kirsten stood up and ran her hand down his arm, squeezing his elbow. Her hand was shaking. Suddenly she wished more than anything that she and Sandy could be alone, and she could take off her dress and her ridiculous heels and stop being strong and capable and polite. She was so tired.

"We need to talk to probation," Kirsten said.

Sandy looked at his watch and scowled. "It's after 11. I'll call first thing in the morning."

Ryan scratched the back of his neck and looked at the floor.

"Damn it, Ryan," Sandy said. "You're just determined to make life difficult for yourself, aren't you?"

"Sandy," Kirsten said, because Ryan was tensing up again.

Sandy took a deep breath.

"Get to the pool house," he said, more quietly. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Ryan nodded and edged out of the room, his whole body stiff. He glanced at Seth when he passed him, but Seth looked away, folding his arms across his chest. They all stood still, listening to Ryan's footsteps on the stairs and the sounds of the party below.

"I tried to stop him," Seth said, his voice raspy and insistent, as though he had repeated the statement numerous times. Kirsten thought maybe he had, if only to himself. "He wouldn't listen to me."

"I know," Sandy said. He crossed to Seth and ruffled his hair, and for once Seth just stood still and allowed it.

"I thought they were going to take him away again," he said.

Sandy exhaled and said, "Seth, they still might."

"I know," Seth said softly. He and Sandy looked at each other, and Kirsten felt a sudden rush of gratitude for her family, and their amazing capacity for love.

 She said, "We should get back to the party."

They gave her identical mutinous looks.

"I know," she said. "But we have to. Or I have to. You can both stay up here if you want to."

"Honey, I think I might have to take you up on that offer," Sandy said.

"Me too," Seth said. He yawned, and Kirsten was pretty sure it wasn't even an act. He looked completely drained.

"All right," Kirsten said, sighing. "I'll clear them out eventually."

"Considering that there's no alcohol," Sandy said wearily, "it might be sooner than you think."

Kirsten kissed his cheek, and leaned up to kiss Seth's, too. She straightened her dress and headed down the stairs, back into the party. At the bottom of the stairs she paused and looked out across the pool just as all the lights in the pool house went out. She looked at the dark pool house for a moment, trying to push down her fear. Then she took a deep breath and plunged back into the party.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Sandy emerged from the shower on Sunday morning to the smell of bacon and maple syrup. He had awakened before dawn with Kirsten still huddled against him, her forehead pressed into his arm, and he had eased out from under the sheets, dropping a light kiss on the top of her head. She hadn't wanted to talk last night, had just crawled in beside him and guided his hands over her body. Now he pulled the sheets up over her shoulder, hoping she would sleep for a while longer. She had been so exhausted over the past two weeks, lying awake at night and sipping black coffee all day until she was jittery and anxious.

Sandy went quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen. The table was set for four and Ryan stood at the stove, flipping bacon in a frying pan. He drew up his shoulders when Sandy entered and turned around. He had been chewing on something, but he swallowed so quickly it looked painful. There was a shadow of a bruise over his cheekbone and a cut on his lower lip.

"Making breakfast?" Sandy said. It was something Ryan hadn't done in a while. His first few weeks with the family he had cooked a couple of mornings a week, as though he had to earn his keep somehow, but that had gradually tapered off. Sandy wondered what Ryan was offering this time, a display of gratitude or an apology. It made him sick to think of all that Ryan had had to trade away, all these years, just to keep his chin above the water.

"Yeah," Ryan said. "I thought I'd . . ."

He shrugged and laid his spatula on the counter.

"I put in an emergency call to your probation officer this morning," Sandy said. "Woke him up, I think."

Ryan nodded warily, folding his arms over his chest.

"He's going to write you up for the two violations, straying out of range and fighting," Sandy said. "You'll be issued a warning that goes in your file. But they're going to give you a second chance on the EM program."

Ryan let out a long breath.

"If you break the rules one more time, you're going to earn yourself a one-way pass back to detention. And I mean that, Ryan. I don't know if I can save you again."

"I know," Ryan said. He suddenly became very interested in the spatula.

Sandy sat down on the barstool and leaned forward, his elbows on the counter.

"So here's what's going to change," he said. "Technically, you still have a range of 100 feet with the bracelet, but we're not operating under those rules anymore. For now you're limited to the house, the pool house, and the area between them. Got it?"

"Yeah," Ryan said softly. He glanced at Sandy, then leaned over and turned off the burner.

"It's not a punishment," Sandy said. "I don't know how I could even punish you for what you did last night. It's a precaution. And that's the way it's going to be until you've earned my trust again."

Ryan nodded. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are. But you're going to have to make a choice, Ryan. About whether you want to be a part of this family. No one can make that decision for you."

"I made it," Ryan said and he made eye contact with Sandy, looking steadier than he had in weeks. "I want this to work. I do."

He was so earnest that Sandy wanted to believe him, but it wasn't that easy. It couldn't be.

"Then why'd you do it?" he said. "Why risk being taken away just to kick some guy's ass?"

Ryan took a deep breath. "I didn't know what I was risking. I mean, I knew, but – things are different now. I wouldn't do it again."

"What's different?" Sandy said.

Before Ryan could answer, Kirsten walked into the kitchen, pulling her robe around her.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she said. "Sandy, did you–"

"Yeah. Yeah," Sandy said. "Everything's going to be fine. Just a warning."

Kirsten rested her hand on the counter, her shoulders dropping.

"I was so scared," she said. "Ryan–"

She caught her breath and joined Ryan at the stove.

"Come here," she said, and when he looked at her shyly, she put a hand on his shoulder and drew him in, wrapping her arms around him. Ryan half-smiled and hugged her back. He didn't let go or stiffen up the way he usually did when he was forced to endure hugs. Instead he rested his forehead on Kirsten's shoulder, taking a deep breath. Sandy watched as Kirsten and Ryan stepped apart, a little awkwardly.

"Ryan, why don't you go grab Seth?" he said. "We can all eat together."

Ryan nodded and headed for the stairs. At the doorway, he paused and looked over his shoulder.

"Thanks," he said, and left the room quickly.

Sandy slid off his stool and leaned over to take Kirsten's hand. She turned and gave him a shaky smile.

"I love you," he said. "You know that?"

"I do know that," she said, and pulled him in for a kiss

"So things are pretty good, huh?"

"Things are pretty good," she agreed.

Sandy smiled and rested a hand on her cheek. She leaned into his palm, and part of him wanted to speak up, to say there were good things everywhere if you just knew how to look. Maybe it was a talent, and maybe it was a skill he'd learned, but Sandy knew he would never have Ryan in his life, or Kirsten, if somewhere along the way he hadn't learned to look past the shields people put up. And then he'd never have Seth either, and Seth was just one good surprise after another. He wanted to tell Kirsten, but then she looked around the kitchen with one of her patented grins, equal parts amused and sheepish and delighted.

"Sandy," she said, "he made bacon!"

Sandy reached over and handed her a piece of bacon, and she popped it in her mouth, and he knew he didn't have to tell her anything. It took her a little longer, maybe, but she knew how to see the good things.

* * *

Ryan knocked on Seth's door, and when he didn't get an answer, eased it open and went cautiously into the room. He figured Seth would still be asleep, but Seth was sitting up on the bed, fully dressed in jeans and a bright red T-shirt. His legs were drawn up to his chest and a large book lay face down across his knees. Ryan moved closer and saw that it was a yearbook. Seth caught him looking and set the book on the floor, out of sight. He glared down at his striped bedspread.

"You here to say good-bye?" Seth asked, and folded his lips in a straight line.

Ryan leaned against the wall by Seth's nightstand, tapping his fingers on the stupid Rooney poster. He didn't know what to say. He'd known Seth was pissed at him, but he hadn't expected this.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

Seth still wouldn't look at him. "You know what? I used to think if you got taken away it would be some stupid thing. Like a horrible misunderstanding. I never thought you'd pretty much ask for it."

Ryan sighed. "You were there. You heard what they said."

"Yeah. I did. And somehow, miraculously, I didn't punch anyone. Funny how that works."

"I'm sorry."

"You always say that."

"I was pissed, okay? It was stupid."

"Yeah," Seth said. "It was really, really stupid."

It was obvious that Seth wasn't going to give him anything, and Ryan couldn't blame him, really. He went and sat on the end of Seth's bed.

"Listen," he said. "Your mom and I had a fight yesterday. I thought she wished I'd never come back here. And I didn't want to stay here if she didn't want me. I didn't want to feel like that again."

Seth was quiet, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his T-shirt.

"Seth," Ryan said. "You don't know what it's like."

"Yeah, I do," Seth said. "Summer. Pretty much everyone I ever met. Until you got here." He lowered his voice on the last sentence, like he didn't want to say it at all. But one thing about Seth was, he couldn't help telling you the truth about things, even if he didn't want to. Ryan liked that about him.

"That's not the same," he said.

Seth shrugged.

"It's not," Ryan said. "In 10 years you won't care that the guys from the water polo team hated your guts. You're not even going to remember their names. But I'm always going to remember that the only mom I'll ever have just left."

Finally, Seth met Ryan's eyes, and he nodded slightly.

"Okay, it's not the same," he said. "But I still kind of know how it feels."

Ryan nodded, too, partly because Seth was right, and partly because he was pretty much talked out.

"And you have my parents, all right?" Seth said. "Don't say it's not the same, because I know it's not the same. But at least you have _somebody_, right?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, I'm willing to share," Seth said.

"Thanks," Ryan said, and he meant it. That was another thing he liked about Seth. He was always willing to share. Sometime maybe he'd tell Seth that, but he was done confessing things for a while, so they just sat in silence for a minute, Seth inspecting his fingernails while Ryan waited.

"You and Mom seem like you worked it out, maybe," Seth offered, a moment later. "You talked about stuff?"

Ryan smiled. "Yeah, Kirsten is pretty great. Remind me to tell you sometime how she yelled at the cops for me."

"Mom did?"

"Yep."

"Wow," Seth said, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. "I bet she's in a really good mood today. What do you want to bet she'll lift the ban on PlayStation? Like, just for today?"

"She's not in _that_ great a mood."

Seth swung his feet off the bed so he was sitting next to Ryan.

"Then, sadly, you may never beat me at Grand Theft Auto."

"I'm so going to kick your ass," Ryan said, "and soon. I have real life experience, remember?"

"Yeah, at getting caught," Seth said, and Ryan knew that things were going to be okay with them again.

"I'm glad I did," he said.

"What, got caught?"

"Yeah," Ryan said.

"Yeah," Seth said. "Me too."

* * *

When Ryan and Seth walked into the kitchen, Sandy's arms were around Kirsten's waist and she was feeding him a piece of bacon. They pulled apart when he and Seth walked into the kitchen, Sandy smiling and Kirsten flipping them an embarrassed little wave. Seth shook his head. He seemed to be on the verge of making his usual horrified faces at his parents' displays of affection, but then he just looked down and smiled. Ryan was relieved, too.

The four of them just stood there for a second, and Ryan had to smile at the way all the Cohens looked kind of goofy and self-conscious and pleased all at once. He thought he probably looked that way, too, but he didn't really mind. The events of the past two weeks had passed over them like a wave, submerging some things and uncovering others. Not all good changes and not all bad, just rearranged. And maybe it was mostly good, in the end. For the first time in weeks Ryan felt like he could breathe.

He thought someone should speak, so he said, "Isn't that bacon getting cold?"

"I'll make some more," Kirsten said, picking up the frying pan and holding it in front of her uncertainly.

Sandy took it out of her hand.

"Honey," he said, "please, let me."

"Sandy!"

Ryan said, "I kind of cooked it all already, I think."

Seth grabbed the frying pan from Sandy and plopped down at the table.

"Let's just eat," he said. "I'm starving. Who cares if it's cold?"

"Not me," said Sandy, who was already chewing on a bagel anyway. He and Kirsten joined Seth at the table.

Ryan poked at the plate of waffles he had made earlier. He'd cooked too much food, but Seth and Sandy could probably work through it all pretty easily.

"These are cold, too," he said. "And there's definitely more batter."

"Ryan," Kirsten said, "please, sit down."

Ryan shrugged and carried the food to the table, the waffles in one hand and the dish of maple syrup in the other. He took his place at the table and unfolded a napkin in his lap, then shook his head. The others were helping themselves to the cold, greasy bacon and the rubbery waffles. Seth was already chewing waffles with great relish, as though he was eating some new delicacy. Kirsten politely nibbled on a strip of bacon. Sandy, Ryan noticed, was sticking to the bagel.

"Seriously, you guys, you don't have to eat this stuff just because I cooked it."

"Ah, but you're a great cook," Sandy said.

"You are," Kirsten said, with a completely straight face.

Ryan laughed and gave up. He went to the cupboard and grabbed a box of Frosted Flakes, then sat back down at the table.

"So I was thinking," he said. "I know this electronic monitoring thing is costing you guys a lot of money."

He noticed the ripple of tension around the table.

"Sorry," he said. "But – why should you have to pay when I was the one who screwed up?"

"I told you not to worry about that," Sandy said.

Kirsten set down her piece of bacon.

"I think you've already paid enough," she said.

"I just thought maybe I could get a job," Ryan said. He didn't want to push it, to ruin the good mood, but this was important. "If that would be okay. To help pay for it."

"What are you going to do, be our pool boy?" Seth said through a mouthful of waffles. When his parents both shot him irritated looks, he said, "Sorry. There just aren't a lot of jobs here around the house. Or at school. As far as I've noticed."

"Some kids serving time on EM do have part-time jobs," Sandy said. "But you just got written up for two violations, so I doubt your probation officer is going to rewrite your contract just yet. A month or two without violations, and that might change."

"There aren't going to be any more violations," Ryan told him.

Sandy said, "I know that."

"Are you thinking the Crab Shack again?" Seth said.

Ryan nodded.

"Great," Seth said. He stood up from the table and scraped his plate over the sink, speaking loudly over the noise of the garbage disposal. "Instead of paying my parents back in cash, you can just pay them back with free lobster. For the whole family, of course. You'll be our new breadwinner."

"Seth," Ryan said, "I didn't give you free lobster last summer and I'm not giving it to you now."

"Can't blame me for trying," Seth said. He plucked the cereal box from Ryan's hands and plopped onto the couch in the den, turning on the TV. "I call 'not it' on dishes."

"I'll do them," Ryan said. He looked anxiously at Sandy and Kirsten, who were having some kind of silent conversation with each other. Sandy's eyebrows seemed to be doing most of the talking. Finally, Sandy turned to Ryan.

"We'll think about it," he said. "Not the dishes. You're welcome to those. But the job. We appreciate you wanting to take on the responsibility, but–"

"But I think it might be safer for you to stay close to home," Kirsten said in a rush. "Wait and get a job after they remove the bracelet."

Ryan looked at the green linen tablecloth and twisted his napkin in his hands.

"I won't get in trouble again," he said.

Kirsten hesitated. "I know you'll try. We just need to be careful."

Ryan sighed. They didn't trust him, and he couldn't blame them. This time it was entirely his fault.

"It's just a job," he said. "And this is my responsibility."

He hated the look Kirsten gave him, sympathy mingled with exasperation.

"It's okay," he said. "I can take care of myself."

"We've heard that from you before," Sandy said. "But it doesn't always work. And you don't always have to. We're here for that."

"You haven't had much chance to just be a kid," Kirsten said. "We'd like to give you the chance, if you let us."

"You've given me so much already," Ryan protested. "And I get it, I know what you're saying, but-"

Sandy stood up.

"We hear what you're saying, too, and Kirsten and I will talk about it," he said. "Let's table the discussion for now, all right?"

Ryan sighed, but nodded. Sandy patted him on the back.

"It's really good to have you home, kid," he said, and joined Seth in the den.

Kirsten looked at Ryan.

"I'll wash," she said. "You dry?"

"Sounds good," Ryan said.

They washed and dried the breakfast dishes in companionable silence. That was one thing Ryan liked about Kirsten, that she didn't always try to fill silences, the way Seth and Sandy did. She liked the quiet, like he did, relaxed in the muted sounds of splashing water and the soft chatter of the television in the next room.

Kirsten handed him a plate, a faraway expression on her face.

"I thought–" she said, and stopped.

"What?"

"Well, I'd have to talk about this with Sandy," she said. "But how would you feel about the Newport Group? Instead of the Crab Shack, I mean?"

"As a job?" Ryan said. "What would I do?"

She thought for a second. "Mostly filing, answering phones, that type of thing, to start. But it would be a good chance to learn about the business, if you're still interested."

Ryan reached up to put the plate away, trying to hide his face behind the cupboard door so she wouldn't see how pleased he was. He wondered, for a second, if she just wanted him at the Newport Group so she could watch him, make sure he stayed out of trouble. But he decided that it didn't matter.

"That sounds really good," he said.

"And when you get the bracelet off, you could come with me to construction sites and model homes. Get a feel for what I do."

She looked quickly at him.

"Only if you're interested. No pressure."

"No, I'd like that," Ryan said, and smiled at her. "Except . . . you know I don't really have the best luck with model homes. Maybe I should stay away from them."

"You can't do that," Kirsten said. "Not if you're going to be an architect."

She turned off the water and wiped her hands on the dishtowel.

"I'll talk to Sandy," she promised. "Maybe in a month or so. In the meantime, we can go over some blueprints if you'd like. I can show you some things."

"Thanks," Ryan said. "It would be nice to have something to do until the sentence is up."

"I thought we could have Jimmy and Marissa over for dinner some night," Kirsten said. "I think Jimmy cooks almost as well as I do. Marissa's looking awfully thin lately."

"Yeah," Ryan said. It was a nice idea and he didn't really want to decline her offer, but he wasn't in the mood to sit through an awkward dinner with Marissa and her dad. "Look, maybe that's not such a good idea."

"No?" she said. "I thought it might be nice for you, seeing your friends."

"We broke up," he said. It didn't hurt as much as he'd expected, saying it out loud. "Yesterday."

"I'm sorry," Kirsten said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," he said, and he meant: not at all. But he sneaked a glance at her. "I mean, not right now."

Kirsten nodded.

"You need time."

He felt a little guilty.

"It's just hard for her," he said, gesturing down at his leg. "All of this."

"Hard for _her_?" Kirsten said indignantly.

"Yeah," he said quietly, hoping she'd take the hint. She nodded, her face softening.

"We'll find other ways to fill the time," she said. "It's not too long."

"It's eighty-five days," Ryan said. "Not that I'm counting down, or anything."

He dried the last plate and thought about it. Eighty-five days of being trapped behind walls and windows. Eighty-five days to carry the weight of the bracelet, eighty-five days of his classmates either mocking him or ignoring him. Eighty-five days until he could walk on the beach again, or go down to the pier, or go to any parties with Seth.

Kirsten smiled at him. She looked worn-out, but mainly she looked – relieved. Happy, even. He smiled back at her and looked quickly at Sandy and Seth, who sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the den, laughing at some stupid cartoon. and Ryan thought, well. Eighty-five days to beat Seth at Grand Theft Auto. Eighty-five days of watching bad action movie rentals with Sandy. Eighty-five days of poring over blueprints and building codes with Kirsten, and finally learning to talk to her, maybe. He knew what Sandy would say to him. Eighty-five days. He could do worse. He looked out at the sun sparkling on the water, then at Kirsten beside him, and he knew, finally, that he couldn't do much better.

_The End_

* * *

Authors' note: We are insanely grateful to AKA, our amazing beta, who stuck with us for the months it took to write (and revise and revise and revise…). Also, thanks to ctoan, the expert on Casa Cohen and easily one of the most useful resources for OC fanfiction writers everywhere. And most of all, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed this story. It's been just amazing hearing from all of you.


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